Diamond Girls
by StakeMeSpike04
Summary: After leaving Iran, running for his life, Erik has no choice but to turn to the U.S. for clemency. The FBI is willing to offer it, under one condition: Erik, and Nadir, must uncover the latest threat to national security. And the epicenter of this threat is located at none other than Cartier, the conservatory Christine Daae attends in Washington DC. E/C. Also posted on AO3.
1. Chapter 1

The cover of night did little to send relief to the occupants of the city. It was the dead of summer, and heat hung with cloying stickiness to the skin of every man and woman. Nadir highly suspected that, in the inception of this country, there was no consideration for temperate climate. Of course, he had no right to complain, coming from Iran. He should have been used to the debilitating heat.

Unfortunately, he was no longer fit for such climates. He had spoiled himself rotten on the west coast, enjoying the glorious breeze that only a Californian beach could afford. While it was still sunny in Washington DC during the summertime, Nadir longed very badly for the gentler temperatures.

To his great disappointment, he had recently learned that he would be stuck in DC for much longer than he had originally anticipated.

In the eight years Nadir had worked for the United States government, he had had the good fortune to be stationed in California. His expertise in intelligence had made him an asset ever since he defected from the Iranian government. He had left Iran without any regrets, happy to leave his sorry, sordid past behind him, and make good on his promises to his departed wife for a brighter future.

If he did leave one regret behind him, it had followed him to America.

His expertise and knowledge were so great, the US had granted Nadir a ready pardon, and a high pay grade, to boot. He was happy with the arrangement, glad to be of service to a country whose morals were, if not perfect, far and above what his home country's were.

He only hoped his prickly friend could secure some kind of amnesty as well.

Nadir didn't have high expectations for Erik's cooperation. Erik had left Iran under the same circumstances as Nadir had, but it had taken him much longer. Erik had fewer compunctions about the goings on in that country. For him, the ends often justified the means. If anything, the thing that Erik took greatest issue with was his virtual servitude. Crime was tolerable. Necessary even, in some circumstances.

The real problem laid in having the option to say no. Which Erik did not have. Neither had Nadir.

The breaking point, from Nadir's understanding, was when Erik had been commanded to murder a man he knew to be completely innocent of any crime. A man with two small children who relied upon him.

Despite the fact that Nadir had escaped years before, he returned to Iran with the aid of the United States to help Erik escape. It was a suicide mission, but Nadir had insisted. He believed that deep down, Erik was good, and could be a contributing member of society. He just needed someone to believe in him.

Erik wasn't inclined to agree.

Nevertheless, Erik was now bound to fulfill his end of the extraction deal that Nadir had made. If Erik wanted protection, and any kind of freedom, he would have to comply with whatever the United States government asked of him.

His slippery friend was supposed to have been in attendance of the meeting with the government agent, but Erik hadn't bothered to show up. Instead, he had ordered Nadir to impart the details of the meeting to him the next time he made contact.

Which was to be, in all probability, minutes after Nadir arrived back in his hotel room.

He gritted his teeth. Erik was difficult on a good day, but he had hoped that in this situation he might be more compliant. After all, it wasn't everyday that the United States exonerated you for terrorist activities. Erik wasn't an American citizen. Technically, he was a French citizen, but seeing as how his mother country hadn't done Erik any favors in the past, he was less inclined to make nice with their foreign officials.

They hadn't exactly exactly knocked on his door, either, which Nadir suspected was fine by Erik.

"We're offering your friend a very good deal," Leslie Baker, agent of the CIA, had told Nadir during their short conversation. "He is fortunate that we are offering it at all."

It was on par with what Nadir expected the agent to say. He was all too aware of how lucky Erik was. In any other case, someone in Erik's position would be rotting in a cell somewhere. But Erik's was a special case, and he could tell right away that Agent Baker was severely annoyed by it. He didn't seem to be the type of person who enjoyed watching people linked with terrorist activities get off Scot-free. Nadir could empathize with that. It was a difficult situation. And for all of the illegal, heinous things Erik had done, the last thing Nadir wanted was for Erik to waste away in prison.

"He understands that. And is very appreciative, I assure you."

Leslie had frowned. Nadir had always been extremely good at kissing behinds, but this man was a professional. He could smell bullshit a mile away.

"His lack of attendance says otherwise."

Nadir had nearly groaned at that. Of course, _of course,_ the one chance Erik had had to make a good impression on the federal agency that was throwing him a bone, and he threw it back in their face.

"My cohort is a very private person."

Leslie peered at Nadir humorlessly. "Nothing is private to the Central Intelligence Agency."

Nadir was well aware of that. His own personal history had been through the ringer for two years before he was offered a chance to interview as a civilian. Like Erik, he had been heavily involved in terrorist activities (unlike Erik, due to having very little choice), and had been offered a chance to earn the safety of American exoneration. After revealing everything he knew about the inner workings of the terrorist regime in Iran, he kept in close contact with the CIA, working as a consultant of sorts. When he wished to legitimize his relationship and be an agent of his own standing, the process had taken some time. There was not a day that went by that Nadir didn't thank Allah for his good fortune.

"You have my word, Agent Baker, that I will pass along all details of this meeting to Erik. And you can hold me personally responsible for what Erik does from here on out."

"I'll hold you to that, Agent Khan," Baker said seriously. "As of now, your associate is a hair's breadth from being labeled 'Public Enemy Number One'. We've seen what he is capable of. I don't know how he escaped our holding facility, and I'm sure that _that_ mystery will be solved in due course, but he does not have free reign to go prancing about Washington DC. Unless he makes contact with us, Agent Khan, and soon, we are under the authority of the President himself to do what it takes to bring him in."

A chill had passed through Nadir. He didn't doubt it. He could only pray that Erik would take the situation seriously.

His suspicions paid off in an alleyway just off the street of his hotel. As a former police chief in Iran, Nadir was usually quite vigilant, but as he got on in age, he let his defenses down too often. He took for granted the relative ease of Washington DC, a drastic change from Tehran. He had been contemplating a cigarette at the foot of the alleyway when he heard the voice of a ghost from his past.

"It is my understanding, Daroga, that those things can kill you."

A familiar shiver of cold dread washed down Erik's spine. In all his years of knowing him, the sound of Erik's cool, mellifluous tones never ceased to affect him.

"Then I suppose I am lucky I have you to remove the temptation," Nadir answered primly, stashing the cigarette back into the cardboard carton. He looked down the alleyway and caught sight of a dark silhouette against the orange street lights. From what Nadir could make out against the steam rising from the grates, Erik was wearing a long trench coat with a hood attached to it. Better to conceal his face, Nadir surmised.

The figure approached silently. If Nadir's eyes were closed, he wouldn't have heard him, even if the ghostly figure was inches away. The man was uncannily stealthy. "You met with the man?" the shadow asked.

Nadir nodded. "It was much as I expected. Erik, they want you to come in. They're starting to get nervous with you freely roaming the city."

Erik let out a low chuckle. The sound wasn't very reassuring. Nadir felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"If the agency is so nervous, perhaps they should hire more competent agents."

Nadir glared. He didn't miss the not-so-subtle dig. "I'm sure that if they had the resources, they would not hesitate to drag you in by your earlobes. As it is, they have far more pressing matters, which concern the two of us."

"Us?" Erik repeated, throwing a glance in Nadir's direction. "Are you to be my nanny then, Nadir? To make sure I don't muck things up?"

"For lack of more eloquent response to that, yes." Nadir sighed. "We're supposed to work this together, Erik. We're both experts of a sort in these matters. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can work our way around a threat to national security."

"My dear Nadir," Erik said with a hint of amusement, "Surely you don't think they would call on a couple of derelicts such as ourselves for a routine bomb scare in the nation's capitol?" The derisive nature of his tone did not escape Nadir's notice.

Nadir leaned against the wall at the lip of the alley, weary from the subject after two consecutive conversations. "I'm afraid that the threat is more than just 'routine' if they're throwing us into the mix," was Nadir's dry response.

Erik didn't respond for a moment. If Nadir could have seen his expression, he would have said the man looked thoughtful. As it was, the silhouetted figure was hiding in shadows, as well as, Nadir assumed, wearing his mask.

"I'll have the details now, Nadir."

Nadir complied. Agent Baker explained that the bomb threat came from certain anonymous sources that could be half-traced to well-known terrorist organizations that both Nadir and Erik had dealt with in the past. Despite the fact that Erik and Nadir were not the only terrorist experts in Washington, the threat had enough uncertainty surrounding it to make it a higher caliber threat to national security. Because the CIA couldn't point a finger in one single direction, they thought it best to call on the two men with enough history in Middle Eastern politics to be able to pinpoint the source.

That was not to mention the very extensive skillset between the two men, including but not limited to firearms, weapons of mass destruction, intelligence, cyber-terrorism, physical terrorism, chemical warfare, profiling, and specialized hand-to-hand combat.

"Hardly sounds like a challenge," Erik said dismissively, but Nadir was familiar enough with his companion to know that Erik would do it.

"We're to start with surveillance at the Cartier," Nadir explained. "The CIA is given to believe that it's the target for the bomb."

"The conservatory?" Erik's interest was definitely peaked now.

"The very same."

"It would make sense," Erik continued, appearing to talk to himself rather than to Nadir. "The school has a rather sordid reputation for encouraging sexual relations between the students and this nation's civil servants. Targeting one event, particularly one with high attendance, would mean the eradication of several important people."

Nadir nodded. Baker had said as much. Of course, Erik had narrowed in on their theory without much prompting. The agency had chosen the very best person to work their case. Erik knew it too. His arrogance knew no limits, and because of it, he would extort them to the very last.

"I'm to receive a package containing all the preemptive research they've done on the school thus far. And we have a contact there, too. A Madame Giry. Apparently her deceased husband used to work for the agency. She is extremely knowledgeable for a civilian, though how that happened I am not sure." Nadir paused, his brow furrowing. "She's also, to my understanding, somewhat of a hard…."

Erik blinked at him from behind the mask.

Nadir blushed, not wishing to repeat the unkind words of Agent Baker. "Well, a _singular_ woman, in any case. She's the dean of the dance department. We're to meet with her in a few days."

Erik didn't argue, which was good enough for Nadir. His companion was being downright agreeable, and for that Nadir thanked his lucky stars. Erik must have had his own reasons for being so obliging. Whatever they were, Nadir was thankful.

A chorus of police sirens wailed into the night. Nadir groaned. It was the third time that hour that Nadir had seen a caravan of police vehicles speed by.

"The law is entirely too prominent here," Erik grumbled. "I don't like it."

Nadir couldn't help but agree with him. He wrapped his coat more tightly around him. "It's only temporary, Erik. It's a job. We've had countless ones before."

"This one is different," Erik murmured enigmatically. "Our opponent is faceless. We are going into this blind."

"Which is why you'll need to read the background information," Nadir reminded him.

Erik turned to him. "You used to know better than to tell me what to do, Daroga. Don't ruin a perfectly good track record by starting now. I promise that if you do, it won't go well."

Nadir folded his arms. "Allah forbid you follow anyone's orders, Erik." In all of his years of knowing Erik, the only authority he had ever answered to had been his own. He longed for the day Erik found someone, or something, that mattered to him more than his own impulses.

"Rest easy, old man," Erik said, a shark-like smirk splayed on his exposed lips. "If we play our cards right, this might even be fun."

* * *

"Christine, really, would you stop that tapping?" Meg Giry whispered furtively.

Christine Daae glared at her from the next seat over, but stopped. Her agitation had caused her tapping, which was entirely due to the circumstances they were under, and therefore out of her control. Although, if she were being honest with herself, Meg's bossiness would have been reason enough.

In the year that Christine had known Meg, she had discovered that for a small-boned ballerina, she was unfailingly commanding. Christine wrapped it up to a formidable personality quirk, something Meg had definitely inherited from her strict mother.

The two girls were sitting in a large auditorium with a few hundred of their peers, listening to the annual start-of-term speech. The assembly had only just started, and Christine already dreaded the hour and half to come.

It was the the official meeting of faculty and students to welcome in another year. It was an opportunity for the president of the conservatory, the department deans, various faculty members, and the student body to discuss the expectations for the year, and some of the things students could look forward to. School-wide events would be announced, as well as changes to the curriculum or faculty. In short, it was everything the students of Cartier needed to know for the coming year.

Christine, alternatively, saw it for what it was: an official ploy to push the unspoken agenda of the conservatory on the students.

Cartier Conservatory was an institution renowned for turning out some of the most accomplished artists: some of the most talented singers, dancers and musicians of their time. They had a reputation that overshadowed that, however, and it glamorized talents that did not win land you a job at Carnegie Hall.

It was enough to turn Christine's stomach. As a second year student, she was all too aware of the kind of activities that went on behind the scenes. It was enough to make her question her decision to choose Cartier over other schools.

Juilliard had been a distant, unattainable dream, and the conservatory in Boston had been too expensive. Her father's passing had left her with a very meager inheritance, barely enough to pay for her applications. Thus, few options. The committee at Cartier had seemed impressed enough by her audition and had even offered her a scholarship. Refusing an offer like that was out of the question.

An emphatic round of applause brought Christine back to the present. She jerked her head up and towards the stage, trying to focus on what was happening before her.

"Thank you, Dean Giry, for that. I'm sure this year's dance students will be most enthusiastic about the selections for the winter recital."

"Not likely," Meg muttered from beside her, shrinking down in her seat. Christine was always amazed by how terrible Meg could make her posture. She wrote it down to the fact that her friend always had impeccable posture, and when she slipped a single vertebra out of perfect alignment, it was startling.

Christine crouched down beside her conspiratorially. "What did she say?"

Meg rolled her eyes. "The same thing she says _every_ year. Blah blah, we must practice discipline, blah blah, will not tolerate distractions, blah blah, my daughter is a disappointment..."

Christine giggled under her breath. "She didn't say that, Meg."

"How do you know? You weren't listening," Meg fought back.

Christine gave her a level stare, choosing to let that slide. "What material are you doing this year?" she inquired.

Her friend sat up straighter in her seat. "That was the only good part," she answered. "For the winter recital we're doing the same boring stuff we do every year," she rolled her eyes, "But in the spring, we'll be forming a corps for the opera! We'll be working together, Christine!"

Christine smiled back at her friend, but felt her heart drop. Performing an entire opera, not just selections of it, was a wonderful prospect, for everyone involved. _**If**_ _I'm involved,_ she thought, uncertainly.

The assembly eventually came to a conclusion, leaving Christine less than inspired for the year to come. It had been much like the one she attended the previous year, only her enthusiasm for school had considerably declined. It would take more than a thrown-together school assembly for Christine to find her passion for her craft again.

"How do you think it started?" Christine asked as they made their way out of the assembly hall and out into the open sunshine.

"What do you mean?" Meg crowed, her hand popping up to cover a yawn.

"You know."

Meg raised her eyebrows.

" _You know_ ," she repeated emphatically. She gestured, making a windmill-like motion. Meg side-eyed her, uncomprehending.

Christine huffed. "You know what I mean, Meg!"

Her friend giggled, then proceeded to groan at Christine's frustrated expression. "Yes, yes, you sour puss, I know what you're implying. Geez, you sure are grumpy today."

"Start of term always stresses me out," Christine confessed. "And don't change the subject."

Meg shrugged. "Not changing. Just taking more time to think."

Christine allowed it, albeit begrudgingly. They walked out of the assembly hall, located in Mizner Building, and walked across the yard to the tiny Starbucks located on campus. Due to the heat, many of the students had chosen to stay inside, giving the girls their pick of the outside tables. Christine always liked sitting out of doors, especially when the weather was fine. The tables were in the shade, and with an iced drink in hand, she was happy.

It was only after both girls had gotten their beverages and sipped them quietly in contemplation that Meg gave her answer. "I think it began even before the school was founded. I mean, this town is notorious for….well, for notoriety!"

Christine snorted at Meg's choice of words.

"I'm serious!" she continued. "It makes sense. Men in power have always exploited women: young, old, poor, rich, doesn't matter. It's just the way of things."

"And not changing any time soon," Christine murmured, frowning.

"Hey girls!"

A trio of girls came dashing up to the table, each of them sporting strongly tanned skin and showcasing a fair amount of it. The foremost girl had taken the seat next to Meg, who eagerly turned in her chair to face her.

"Hey Jamie! How was your summer?" Meg asked cheerfully.

"Uh- _mazing_ ," Jamie replied, crossed her legs and leaning towards Meg in conspiration. "You'll never believe the stuff I've heard during the vaca." The two other girls nodded, proceeding to pull up chairs to get a closer listen to what Jamie had to say.

Christine rolled her eyes. Of course these girls would consider the summer off as "vaca". For girls like her, who were on scholarship, the summer was comprised of hard work, and little beach time. The following summer would be dedicated wholly to auditions, or interning at an opera house, whatever opportunity was available to her. Being her last summer of relative freedom, she had made sure to work her butt off to earn as much money as she could.

It was especially important that she made money this year. The cost of tuition had gone up in the past year, meaning that her scholarship was worth less. If she wanted to save money for the next few years, she might even have to consider a part-time job during the fall semester. Spring semester meant the spring show, and there would be no time for anything _except_ for that.

"Tell. Me. _Everything_ ," Meg breathed.

Jamie tucked a long strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear and ducked her chin conspiratorily. "Well, from what I've heard, Deborah Bishop spent her summer in _fragrante,_ if you catch my drift."

Christine cleared her throat. "Actually, it's _fla_ grante."

The rest of the girls looked at her, as if suddenly noticing her sitting there. Jamie pursed her lips.

"Right." She gave Christine a lingering, curious look before turning back to Meg. "Anyways, Deb's been parading herself around campus, and wouldn't you know it? She's got half a carat per ear."

Meg gave a low whistle. "Wow. Never took her to be one of those."

Christine couldn't help but agree. If her memory served her, Christine could conjure up the imagine of a shy, mousey-looking girl who hardly spoke up in class. She kept mainly to herself, aside from a few close friends. In many ways, Christine could empathize with the girl. She too had tried to blend into the crowd, preferring not to draw attention to herself.

Until now, it seemed.

"Any word as to who her new sugar daddy is?" Meg inquired, taking a dainty sip.

Jamie shrugged, inspecting her chipping fingernails with distaste. "Not yet. The rumor mill has been pretty dry lately, but hopefully someone will know something soon."

The girls lingered for a few minutes longer before flouncing away, presumably to spread the news to as many people as they could.

Christine found the whole practice distasteful. As if the trend wasn't bad enough, the girls at the school insisted on perpetuating the rumors. It was a sorry cycle. She preferred ignorance.

"Anything of _actual_ note we should look forward to this semester, other than our classmates' personal lives becoming the subject of university-wide discussion?"

Meg grimaced. "'Fraid not," she replied soothingly. She grinned suddenly. "Unless, of course, you want to talk about the ghost…"

Christine groaned. Just when she didn't think there was a topic she wanted to hear _less_ about. "Not again, Meg."

Her friend gave a loud whine, so shrill Christine was surprised they did not attract more attention. "C'mon, Christine! I have to tell my theories to _some_ one!"

"Don't your other dance majors enjoy superstition?" Christine asked, fishing around the bottom of her cup for lingering whipped cream.

"Yes, but I can't tell _them_. My mom might overhear me, and you know how her greatest joy in life is to squash rumors of any kind. Especially the ones about the ghost."

"I still don't see why I have to listen to your crazy talk," Christine said cheekily.

"Maybe because you're my best friend and you love me?" Meg gave her the best fluttering lashes and simpering smile in her arsenal.

"Or," Christine supplied, launching herself out of her seat to throw her empty cup away, "Maybe not."

Laughing, she walked away, an irritated Meg jumping up to follow close behind.

"Christine!"

* * *

The walk back to their shared dorm room was thankfully a short one. As undergrads, they were still required to live on campus, but being in their second year, they were given a better pick of the lot. After being randomly assigned as roommates in one of the dormitories farthest from campus, Christine and Meg had agreed to live in a closer, pricier dorm. The convenience could not be denied, and the privacy of a shared bathroom between them, rather than the rest of the girls on their floor, was downright luxurious.

Christine walked straight through the door of their dorm and entered the kitchenette. She took a direct left turn towards her bedroom, passing their tiny living room. Meg's room was located diagonally across from her, affording them both some privacy in the small space. They were on the first floor, which saved them any exhausted trips up and down a stairwell carrying laundry. It also opened up a whole new set of opportunities to sneak in and out without the other being the wiser. It was an idea Meg had supplied, and Christine had laughed at. As if she had someone or somewhere to sneak off _to_.

With a great oomph, she released about five books from her possession and let them fall with a giant plop onto her book. The girls had chosen to make a quick pit stop to the local bookstore, knowing they would have to take many such trips over the course of the week. The caffeine pit stop had certainly helped in their physical endeavor, but staring down at her books now, Christine was having trouble summoning up any more energy.

"Did you make it?" came Meg's muffled voice.

"Yes!" Christine chirped back, letting her hands fall to her hips with a sigh. She felt accomplished, and it was only 3 o'clock in the afternoon. She would have the rest of the afternoon to organize their shared space, begin outlining her schedule, look into part time jobs around campus…

It was with a quick glance at her class schedule that all her plans for the afternoon were dashed.

"Crap, crap, _crap_!"

Meg came rushing into her room, alarmed by her friend's outburst. "Christine? Are you okay?"

"Crap!" Christine replied back, running back out into the living room where her purse had fallen off of her shoulder in her hurry to reach her room.

"Hey, slow down, what's wrong?"

"I have intermediate music theory tomorrow, Meg! I forgot to get the book at the store!"

"So?" Meg asked carelessly, deeming the outburst low-priority and opened a cabinet to find a snack. "It's shopping week. You have time to get the text book. It's expected. The professor can't penalize you for that."

"But it's _Professor Reyer_ ," Christine replied back, digging through her bag to find the receipt. "He requires you to have the book on the first day, _and_ there's a reading assessment before the first class!" The assembly had stripped all other thoughts from her mind. She had been a space case all afternoon.

"Alright, no stress," Meg soothed. "The store doesn't close until five, you have plenty of time to get back there and buy the book."

Christine nodded absently, already looking for her keys.

"Although," Meg said, a new thought forming, "You might want to make sure they even have the book before you go all the way back there. That's a pretty popular class, and I'm sure every other student had the same thought as you and went to the campus store to buy it."

Christine stopped what she was doing. "You're right! Thanks Meg!"

She felt Meg lazily eyeing her as she made her call, the silent scrape of a metal spoon against the inside of the peanut butter jar only half-occupying the dancer. She made the call directly, frowned, and hung up.

"No luck?" Meg asked sympathetically.

"Not so much," Christine said. "I think I'll have a better shot at the bookstore on 10th." She groaned. The store was almost half an hour away from campus, and she'd have to take a bus as well as the train. She briefly contemplated an Uber, but she really didn't have money to be frivolously throwing around.

Another call only proved that she'd have to make the trip. So much for her afternoon.

"Do you want me to come with?" Meg offered.

Christine shook her head. "No, that's okay. Thanks Meg," she said gratefully. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Dinner in the caf?"

"You know it," Meg said with a wink. Laughing, Christine gave her a small wave before walking back out the door.

* * *

In her first year, Christine had stuck pretty close to campus. She had explored DC during her orientation, but preferred to stay on campus during the school year. As a result, navigating DC was still somewhat confusing for her.

But she still enjoyed the city. She loved history, and being surrounded with the history of the country was magical. She especially loved when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The air was sweet, and the city was awash in excitement. She and Meg attended the festival, and promised that they would continue the tradition for as long as they stayed in DC.

Traffic was always bad in the late afternoon. Her trip to the bookstore took longer than she anticipated, but luckily, her book was waiting for her when she got to the store. The owner was so good as to hold it for her, smiling sympathetically when Christine frantically raced inside.

"No rush, dear, I'm still open for another hour."

Christine blushed. "Oh. Good! Great. Well, thank you. I might browse for a little while, then."

The store owner nodded in encouragement. It would give Christine a moment to catch her breath. She had a few more books to get anyway, and the fewer trips, the better.

She had been lost in her own little world of textbooks for about twenty minutes when the store owner came up to her. "Excuse me, miss?"

Christine looked up. She glanced around her. There was no one else in the store, so the woman was obviously intending to engage her. "Er, yes?"

"Do you know that young man lurking about outside? He's been standing outside the store for about ten minutes, looking at you. I think he's deciding whether or not he should come in."

Startled, Christine directed her gaze out the windows at the front of the store, searching for the young man. When she spotted him, she paled.

"Dear? Are you alright? Should I call the police?"

Christine turned back to the woman sharply. " _No_!" The woman started. "I'm sorry," Christine apologized. "I didn't mean to...that is…." She looked back out the window. "I just thought I had seen a ghost."

She smiled, giving the man outside an enthusiastic wave. His expression turned from wary to joyous. He matched her wave.

Christine turned back to the store owner. "Would you mind holding my book a little longer?"

The woman shook her head with a bemused smile. "Not at all."

Christine shot her a quick, "Thanks!" before heading outside.

"Christine Daae, as I live and breathe," the young man sad, meeting her on the sidewalk. "I could have sworn that was you when I passed by the window."

"And gave the book store owner a heart ache in the process," Christine teased. "She was about two heartbeats away from calling the cops."

The young man colored.

"Thankfully," Christine continued, "I came to your rescue." She gave him a saucy grin.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," he teased right back.

She laughed. Simultaneously, they moved towards one another and hugged.

"Raoul, it's so good to see you," Christine enthused, speaking into his ear.

Raoul squeezed her before stepping away. "It's good to see you too, Lotte. This is the last place I would have expected you!"

She laughed, tossing her head. "I know! But I'm not in politics. I'm going to school at Cartier."

His eyes lit up. "Cartier? Christine, that's amazing! That's a really good school, I hear!"

She shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, it's no Julliard. But I couldn't have gotten in there, anyways."

Raoul shook his head. "I doubt that. You were always amazing, Christine! I bet you could have gotten in anywhere you wanted."

She wanted to protest that she doubted it, and that had been the reason behind why she didn't bother applying, but let him keep his optimism.

"You're studying to be a singer, of course?" he half-asked, half-stated.

"I am," she confirmed. "And you, Raoul? What are you doing in DC? Last I heard you were still in New York."

"So were you," he teased. He gestured to his fine suit, as well as the briefcase he carried. "I go to Georgetown Law. And when I'm not frittering my life away in a classroom or library, I'm volunteering with Philippe's office."

A few years ago, Christine had been pleasantly surprised and somewhat amused to learn that Philippe, Raoul's significantly older brother, had landed a senator's seat for the state of New York. Christine knew that Raoul's family had always been very connected politically, with his uncle being the former mayor of Albany and his grandfather being the governor. He came from a long line of New York politicians, and was expected to follow in their footsteps. With Raoul's charm, good looks, and good intentions, she had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to change the world.

"That's so great, Raoul," she gushed. "I always knew you were destined to save the world."

Raoul blushed, his pleasure evident. "Well, I don't know about all that."

Christine cuffed him on the shoulder. "Well, I do! I remember all those games of superheroes. You always wanted to be Superman in those."

"And _you_ always wanted to be Supergirl, even though the obvious choice was Lois Lane."

"And _I_ told _you_ that I didn't want to be the damsel in distress," she laughed. "I wanted cool super powers too!"

He held up his hands placatingly. "Fair enough," he said with a laugh. "So," he hedged, "Any chance we can continue this somewhere with menus and horrible fluorescent lighting?"

"I'm pretty sure there aren't any McDonald's around here, Raoul," she teased.

"Har, har." Raoul ran a hand through his hand. "No, really. How about grabbing some dinner? My treat. You can tell me all about what you've been up to these past...what has it been, three years?"

"Four," she automatically corrected.

He smirked at her slip.

She pointed her tongue in his direction in retribution.

Raoul chuckled. "I'll take it that's a yes?"

She hesitated. "I don't know, Raoul. I promised my friend we'd grab dinner together at the cafeteria on campus…"

Raoul made a face. "Please, Christine. Indulge an old friend and let me take you out to a proper meal. And besides, it's rush hour. You won't get back to campus for at least an hour. You'll be starving by then, and you'll have made your friend wait, too. She'll understand, I'm sure?"

Christine didn't doubt it. They got dinner together almost every night; it wasn't a special occasion. In any case, she knew that if she told Meg she rejected Raoul in favor of a regular school meal, she would never hear the end of it.

"Okay, sure, why not. I'll text my friend, grab my books and we'll be off."

"That's the famous Daae appetite talking!"


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner with Raoul had been wonderful. In addition to satiating 'the famous Daae appetite', Christine enjoyed four years' worth of catching up with Raoul. They reminisced about the first summer they had met on the beach almost ten years ago, giggling at the memories of a younger Raoul and Christine. They had built sandcastles and swam in the ocean while her father and his au pair looked fondly on. It had been the sweetest summer of her life.

It led to talk about the letters they had written to each other during the school year, and the infrequent encounters they had had over six years.

Christine had always been saddened that she and Raoul had not been closer. Their differences in lifestyles had prevented them from running in the same circles. Not to mention the distance between their family homes.

Raoul's family was well-connected, wealthy, and political. Christine's was...eclectic. She liked to joke that she traveled with a Gypsy caravan, and would sing for coins on the street. Her father would fiddle away as she twirled in her long, purple skirts. It was a pretty fantasy the two had fabricated over time, and like a warm blanket, it had comforted her.

But while Raoul had enjoyed luxury condos by the beach, Christine and her father had stayed in smaller, shabbier motels almost thirty minutes away. Her father was able to make a decent enough living, but they were enslaved to debt. A debt Christine had inherited at her father's death, and hoped to pay off in the not too distant future.

When she told Raoul of her father's passing, he was gratifyingly sad. There were very few people in the world who understood just how much her father meant to her. Other than Raoul, and her godmother, most people thought that her mourning of her father was gravely exaggerated, to the point of needing clinical assistance. In that first year, she had been through an assembly line of therapists, and to a certain extent, they had helped. But Christine had resigned herself to a lifetime of mourning her father a long time ago.

It felt good to have Raoul back in her life. In a small way, it felt like having a piece of her father back. He shared memories of her father with her, and that was something priceless. After he had hailed her a cab back to campus, they exchanged numbers and swore that they would do a better job of staying in touch this time.

Christine, for her part, meant every word.

But despite Meg being seemingly understanding about their canceled dinner plans over text message, she wasn't about to let Christine off the hook.

"So," greeted Meg when Christine returned. She was sitting in the common area with her foot propped on a chair and a bottle of nail polish in her hand, "How was your _date_?"

At Meg's tone, Christine was tempted to roll her eyes, but refrained. "It wasn't a date," she emphasized. "We were just catching up. As _friends._ "

"Uh huh," Meg said, unconvinced. "Where did you have dinner?"

Christine paused. "Chris' Steakhouse," she said quietly.

"Steakhouse, eh?" This time, Christine didn't refrain - she gave in to the eye roll.

"It wasn't like that, Meg. Besides, who knows...Raoul might have a girlfriend now."

"Did he make mention of any girlfriend?"

"Well...no," Christine confessed. "But that doesn't mean anything. He might have one, and thought better than to mention her because he pitied the single girl."

Meg paused. "He knows you're single?"

"...I might have mentioned it."

Meg smiled slyly.

Christine groaned. "Ugh, don't read anything into it!" She strode over to the fridge and opened it, removing a Coke. She popped the tab. "He asked and I told him. I felt pathetic, but lying would have been worse."

Meg's face lit up. "Aw, Chris, he asked you? That's a really good sign! He's obviously interested!" She lifted another crafted brow in the direction of Christine's soda. "Aren't you supposed to be taking it easy on those? And it's after eight, you're going to be up all night."

Christine harrumphed. "Well, _mom,_ I didn't have a soda yet today, so lay off. Plus, I need it, you're stressing me out." She took a particularly noisy sip for emphasis.

Meg laughed. "I'm sorry, Chris. I don't mean to stress you out. I'm just excited for you! You didn't date much last year."

Christine settled into the seat Meg had propped her foot on, swatting the offending impediment away. Meg simply reinstalled her foot on Christine's knee. She paused, considering her answer. "I know. I was...distracted."

Meg had begun to paint her toes again, but looked up at that. "Your dad?" she asked, eying her friend carefully.

"Yeah," Christine said. "It was hard trying to balance everything. School, finances...the debt," she quietly added. "Not to mention, Mrs. Valerius hasn't been doing well, either. Checking in on her was a commitment, too."

Meg nodded. "I get that. But Christine, you deserve a bit of happiness. Lord knows you do. If not a commitment, well, at least a bit of fun!" Christine looked at her sternly, knowing where this conversation was leading them. "I've offered before, and I'll hope you take me up on it this year...to go to a few parties…!"

Christine groaned loudly, trying, without success, to hide her teasing smirk.

Meg batted at her. "Why do you make me suffer like this? Haven't I earned at least a _teensy_ bit of your compassion?

"Perhaps," Christine said dispassionately, taking another sip of her soda.

Meg rolled her eyes this time. " _Fine,_ I won't push you. But the offer is forever open. As payment, you'll just have to continue being my assistant in zipping up my dress whenever I need it."

"As it's a two-way agreement, Meg, you have nothing to fear. We're zipper buddies for life."

Meg gave a cheery grin at that and finished off the foot propped on Christine's knee. "So," she continued casually, "Do you think you'll see him again?"

Christine opened her mouth to respond when her phone signalled that she received a text message. Christine blinked, grabbed her phone, and looked at the screen.

"Who is it?" Meg asked, a knowingness to her tone.

Christine smiled, a bit embarrassed. "Raoul."

" _EEEEEEEEEE!_ "

Christine winced, throwing her free hand over her ear. "Now who needs to calm down on the caffeine, hmm?"

Meg screwed the polish firmly shut, shrugging without concern. "What can I say? I was born with this much gusto."

* * *

The first day of classes started off smoothly. All day long, Christine was on time, prepared, and hadn't spilled a single drop of anything on herself. In short, a small miracle.

The final class of the day was her most dreaded, however. It was the class she would actually be expected to sing during. Being a second year student, her other classes mainly consisted of basic piano, romantic languages, and music theory, history, and literature. In this class, they were to learn how to better sight-read, as well as the technical aspects of singing. It met twice a week, once on Mondays at four, and again on Wednesdays at seven.

Christine wouldn't have dreaded it so much, however, were it not for a certain individual.

Cara Giudicelli had become Christine's number one rival almost as soon as they started at Cartier. Fearing confrontation as Christine did, it was with considerable effort that she had even landed herself a mortal enemy in the first place. But however it had happened, the facts remained. Cara _hated_ Christine, and on Christine's rough days, she couldn't say the feeling wasn't mutual.

It was a well-known fact that Cara came from an illustrious, wealthy, _public_ family. She was the daughter of a Spanish millionaire, who had married one of the greatest legacies of Italian opera singers in history.

In short, she was the cream of the crop in the opera world, and she knew it. And Christine had, irrevocably, made herself a threat to Cara.

Unlike many of the girls at Cartier, Christine was reserved. She had a lot of insecurities, and still questioned whether or not she truly belonged at the conservatory. But on one rare occasion in her first year, Professor Reyer had actually been able to get Christine to sing _forte_ , and it had astonished the class. Cara had been none too pleased.

Since that day on, she had done everything to make Christine's life a Cartier a living nightmare.

Christine put all thoughts of Cara from her mind. She knew they would most likely be in many of the same classes, but she wouldn't let her dread of Cara Giudicelli cast a shadow over her daily life.

With relative calm, Christine walked into the classroom, her expression relaxed. She shot towards the seat she had occupied both semesters last year, falling into it as if it were the embrace of an old friend. She took out her textbook, notebook, and pen, and placed it all on her desk, a sigh stealing over her.

A ruckus to her left alerted her to someone's arrival. She faced the newcomer, and smiled with an air of expected exasperation.

"Hey, Eddie," Christine said with a wary smile.

"Hey, Christine!" Eddie said. Edward Hayden was boy-next-door handsome, with a smile that was slightly too eager, and a little crooked. Still, he meant well, and was always kind to Christine. He was a baritone, and they were often paired together on assignments. Once or twice, she had wondered if he carried a torch for her, but enough time had passed between incidents that she suspected his interest in her was now purely friendly.

He let his textbook smack loudly on the surface of his desk, and grinned over at her. "Good summer?"

"Not bad," she answered evenly, turning her eyes back to Reyer, who was writing something on the large whiteboard. "You?"

"About the same. Spent most of the time down in Florida with my friends sitting on the beach and getting some rest." He shrugged, and Christine took in his arms, which were brown as nuts. "What about you? Do anything fun?"

"Mostly worked. I would have liked to get to the beach, but I didn't have much time." Christine frowned. She felt envy stir inside her at his relaxed demeanor, but pushed the feeling aside. She couldn't afford to think so ungenerously. She had her future to think about. Besides, she had needed the money, and she owed her ailing guardian so much. She had been more than happy to help her out over the summer break when she wasn't at work.

Suddenly, her eyes caught a movement at the door of the classroom. Christine grimaced, and Eddie's eyes charged to where she was looking.

Cara floated into the room. She radiated confidence, arrogance, and entitlement. She was 5'11, with generous, sweeping curves and long, deep red-orange hair that fell down in a thick curtain to her waist. And, of course, she was beautiful. There had been rumors that she had done some minor modeling work in Europe over the summer for some high-end fragrance line that Christine had never heard of. She hadn't seen the magazine spread, but she knew it was floating around the school all the same. She was dressed beautifully, as always, and wore chunky jewelry, all of it designer and expensive.

She did not, however, wear diamonds.

Despite her own notoriety, Cara had always been an open critic of the 'Diamond Girls' image the school projected. She was a diva through and through, and unafraid to cut down other people on her way to greatness, but there was no denying that she was hard-working and devoted to her craft. Christine knew Cara would rather saw off her own hand than accept a man's influence in becoming a star.

The man who did grace her arm had been there for over two years, and the only influence he had was over her moods. His name was Adolfo Piangi. He had graduated the previous year and had joined an opera troupe in DC so he could stay near Cara. He was her devoted slave, and had been wrapped around her little finger for as long as they had been together. To all outsiders, it appeared as though they were both perfectly happy with their respective places of power in their relationship.

Wherever Cara went, it was usually with Adolfo and the rest of her entourage. It consisted of: her best friend Nora, a beautiful, leggy blonde, but an alto, and thereby zero threat to Cara; a mousey, short soprano named Kim; and Andrea, a slim, Somalian ballerina who was Cara's inside scoop into the dance sector of campus. At the moment, she was only accompanied by her singer friends, who were also enrolled in the class. Cara strode gracefully to her seat, and Nora and Kim followed, acting as props rather than individual people.

"Good afternoon, class," Reyer greeted in his thin, wispy voice. "I hope you all had a nice and restful summer vacation and are ready to get back to work."

Christine smiled softly. That was Reyer. Business as usual.

"As you all know, the school announced that we'll be putting on an opera this spring. As one of the heads of the Music Department, I've been getting a lot of questions about whether or not underclassmen will be allowed the privilege to audition for roles. After no small amount of deliberation, we've come to the consensus that it _is_ allowed. _However_ ," Reyer added, holding up a finger when the class broke into excited whispers, "I would not get your hopes up. Preference will be held for upperclassmen, barring any exceptional auditions."

The class let out a collective, small sigh of disappointment.

"Of course, as your teacher, I am bound to encourage you to audition all the same. It is good practice for the future. You might as well get used to auditions, and rejections, now."

Christine grimaced. It wasn't a pretty image of the future he was presenting to them. Still, he was right. Rejection was a common part of the business, and it was time they all started to toughen up. Especially her.

She turned her head to see how the rest of the class were handling the discussion, and caught Cara's eye. The girl lifted her eyebrows meaningfully, her lips pulled down in a simpering pout. The disdain in her expression was easy enough to read. It said, 'Well, we know who's definitely going to be rejected'.

"Don't let her rattle you," Eddie whispered furtively, having observed the silent exchange. "You know she feeds off that."

Christine nodded minutely. _Easier said than done,_ she thought morosely.

Cara sneered, then turned back to her friends, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"All that aside, everyone will be participating in the opera. Auditions for the chorus will be not necessary, as the performance will be a requirement. We will start working on that once the show is cast. You may start researching the show now, however, to get yourself familiar with it."

Reyer told them the name of the opera, which everyone reacted to differently. It was more modern, he said, having been composed in the 1900s, and therefore not as well known. Christine was fine with that. She knew she would be singing Verdi and Puccini for the rest of her life. She didn't mind expanding her repertoire.

They reviewed the material in their textbooks that Reyer had assigned, and went over the class syllabus before ending the session. The class had gone off mostly without a hitch, Christine reasoned, up until she was bodily stopped on her way out the door.

"Thinking of auditioning this year, _Daae?"_ Cara asked, her voice condescending. She had a strange way of pronouncing words, as if she had an European accent that wouldn't quit. Christine hated it. She knew for a fact that Cara had been raised in New Jersey, and that the accent was all an act to make her sound sophisticated.

"I haven't decided yet," Christine said, her voice small. Eddie elbowed her none-too-gently in the side, and coughed into his hand. She huffed in irritation, but read his message loud and clear. "But yes, Cara," Christine added, her voice louder this time. "I think I will."

"Hm," Cara hummed nonchalantly, examining her nail beds. "I thought you were supposed to be a smart girl. Reyer said that underclassmen would not be chosen. I wonder why you'd even bother."

"He said except for exceptional auditions."

"Exactly." Cara looked up then, her face pleased as punch. Christine released belatedly that Cara had been baiting her. "So, I say again: why bother, Christine? You know that auditioning is not your strongest suit. Besides," she said, adjusting her weight onto her other hip. "Everyone knows that _I'm_ the critic's choice as far as anyone's concerned. If any underclassman is going to be cast, it's going to be _me._ So I really wouldn't bother." She smiled, a nasty, cat-like expression, and tilted her head to the side. "Better get used to disappointments now."

She turned to her friends, and with a well-manicured hand, signalled for them to go.

Christine felt her stomach sink. She knew a confrontation with Cara had been inevitable, but she had hoped for a little more time before Cara spelled out her doom.

"She's wrong, you know."

Christine turned to Eddie, who was looking at her seriously. "What?"

"She's wrong," he repeated. "You're brilliant. You have every chance of landing a spot in that show as she does. More, even."

Christine waved him off. "Yeah, right."

"You do!" he said urgently, and her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, okay? But I hate to see you doubt yourself. Everyone else is just going to doubt you, so you better start believing in yourself, Christine, otherwise no one else will."

It was solid advice, and she felt properly chastised by it. Perhaps she had been wrong in trying to push Eddie away. "You're right," she said bashfully. "I'll try harder."

"Good," he said, giving her a pat on the back. "Now let's get out of here, grab a burger, and I can tell you all about the half naked girls I chased all summer."

Christine laughed, feeling all tension pull away from her. "Oh, I can't wait to hear about _that_."

* * *

Now that their assignment in DC was confirmed, the Bureau had seen it fit to put Nadir up in an actual apartment.

It was a blessing in some ways, and a curse in others. While having one's own space meant independence and comfort, it also meant a lack in certain boundaries. Erik had a particularly bad habit of sneaking up on Nadir when he wasn't prepared. Most frequently, in fact, in Nadir's home. While Nadir had been in the hotel, Erik hadn't bothered to try - too much risk was involved. But now that Nadir was situated in a space with fewer doors, Erik wouldn't have as many qualms about breaking and entering.

He should have been used to it by now, but he wasn't. No matter how many times Nadir told Erik he was welcome _only_ if he knocked, Erik chose to ignore him.

Back in Iran, it had been much of the same. Erik would come and go as he pleased from Nadir's apartment. However, the same courtesy was not extended back. Erik was an extremely private person, and covetous of his space and belongings. In fact, Nadir had been the only one allowed to even enter his home. All others who tried did so at their own peril.

Despite Erik's many assurances to the contrary, Nadir knew he enjoyed privileges that no one else had, or had ever been offered. Still, Nadir was wary of that fine line. He didn't know Erik's limits that intimately. He had pushed them, certainly, over the years, but he knew that one day he would test Erik's patience and fail. He wasn't eager to see that day.

Erik hadn't 'visited' him yet, but he knew he would soon. He was being shockingly responsive to Nadir texts, which always unnerved him. He was easier to predict when he was being offstandish.

But it wasn't responsive enough for Agent Baker. Nadir could hear that quite clearly in his tone of voice when he called that night.

Merely a week after he had met the man, and Nadir was half-convinced that Agent Baker had his number memorized. He had only stepped through the door of his apartment two minutes prior to when his cell rang.

Nadir looked down at the screen of his phone, and sighed.

"Hello, Leslie."

"Khan," Agent Baker greeted, his tone brooking no interest in pleasantries. "Have you brought your friend to heel, yet?"

Nadir grimaced. He knew that if Erik had heard that, Leslie was likely to have a long conversation with Erik...and his catgut. "Not quite," Nadir answered uneasily. "He's not the sort to be domesticated."

"I don't care if you have to put him in an apron that says 'Kiss The Cook', Khan," Leslie said, his voice rising with ill temper. "You _will_ bring him underfoot. My superiors are getting _very_ antsy. They are yours, too, Khan...if you recall."

Nadir gritted his teeth. "I understand the situation you are in, Agent Baker. Believe me. But it is easier said than done. The man lives in an unorthodox manner. He doesn't simply rent a hotel room and order room service. He hides away. It makes it easier to skulk about and gain information."

For years, Nadir had tried to disabuse Erik of his habits. He had tried to convince him, ineffectively, that he was a man, not an animal. He even knew for a fact that Erik liked the nicer things. Why he chose to deprive himself of his needs - especially the basic ones - was beyond him.

"Perhaps that worked in the old country, Khan, but this is the United States. This behavior is completely unacceptable!"

Even Nadir was losing his patience at this point. He knew that Erik would have hung up by now, stringing curses about, flustered and inflamed. Nadir liked to think he was more collected than that, but he felt indignation on behalf of his friend.

He clutched his phone tightly to his ear. "What if I arrange a meeting between myself, Erik, and the Giry woman? I know she answers to you, and would therefore keep him accountable. Would that suffice?"

Erik didn't trust anyone, but he knew Erik well enough to know he would not hurt a woman unless she gave him a _very_ good reason. With Baker, he wouldn't need much in the way of motivation. Baker's condescension alone would prompt Erik's violence.

Baker hummed on the other end of the phone. "Well...I suppose that could work. For now." Nadir heard the man shift around a bit on the other end of the phone. "Fine. Arrange it, and let me know the details. I'll contact Giry and have her impart the details of your meeting afterwards. She's well-known by the higher-ups. They trust _her_ judgment."

The insinuation wasn't subtle, nor without merit. Nadir rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"Great. I'll call her."

"See that you do, Agent Khan," Baker said, his tone pert. "If Erik's fails to make this meeting, it'll be the last chance he has to present himself to someone other than you. After this, the Bureau will start up the man hunt again. And this time, he'll be locked up behind a steel-plated door. Zero access. Do you understand?"

Nadir paused, collecting himself. "I understand."

"Good. Good night, Khan." And with that, he hung up.

Nadir sighed again, bringing his phone down to his side. He let his head fall back, his eyes shutting closed. "Damn you, Erik," he whispered quietly.

Somehow, this wasn't their worst bind, and he knew there would be worse to come. But it was bad enough.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Khan, while I appreciate the call, I don't understand why you deemed it necessary when we are to meet in one hour."

Nadir automatically sat up straighter in his seat at the directness of her tone. He was sitting outside of a small cafe in Columbus Circle. The weather was nice for a change, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

With a bluetooth in his ear, his hands were immobile, but he felt the need to occupy them. He fiddled almost nervously with the strap of his briefcase. He had been forewarned that Giry was a peremptory creature, but never before had he spoken to a woman with such curt manners. It brought him up short.

"I do not wish to take up very much of your time, I simply wanted to give you some warning before you meet with my associate and myself."

"I doubt that is necessary Mr. Khan, for as I said, our meeting is to take place in one hour, and I'm sure I will learn all I need to know at that time."

Nadir grit his teeth. The woman didn't like to make things easy, did she?

"Mrs. Giry-"

"Madame will suit."

"Madame, then. The reason for my calling is expressly to warn you of my companion, who has been known to be something of an anomaly."

Madame Giry didn't so much as pause. "I've dealt with many unpleasant people, Mr. Khan, both in my line of work and in my husband's. I do not frighten easily."

She was brave, at least. Or foolhardy. Nadir somehow suspected the latter couldn't be the case. "With all due respect, Erik isn't merely unpleasant. He is…." Nadir sighed. "It is difficult to put into words."

"I would appreciate it if you tried." She sounded impatient, but there was something else there, too. Curiosity, perhaps?

Nadir smoothed down the front of his shirt, his voice lowering. Erik was supposed to meet him there prior to their meeting with Giry. He had some time before Erik arrived, but it never hurt to be careful. Especially where Erik and his preternatural hearing were concerned.

"Erik is a wanted man in many countries. While the majority of them want him for his skills, a good deal of them want him for his head. He is an absurdly gifted individual, with a wide range of talents and a great deal of knowledge."

"Are you trying to tell me in no uncertain terms, Mr. Khan, that your friend is dangerous?"

Nadir almost smiled. The agency had not lied. Madame Giry was uncannily perceptive.

"I am, Madame, but that is not the reason for my bringing it up."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, Mr. Khan. They might have told you I am a stone-cold authoritarian, but do not be mistaken, I care very deeply for my students. If they are in danger, I will need to know of it."

Nadir hesitated. "I do not believe him to be a danger to your students, Madame."

"But can you guarantee that he won't be?"

The conversation was going in different direction from that which Nadir had thought it would go. "I want to tell you that I can. From my previous experience, Erik has never harmed anyone who did not threaten or provoke him. Not once."

Giry paused, considering that. Then, "I cannot pretend to like your answer, Mr. Khan, but I suppose it will do. For now."

Nadir breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wanted very desperately to end this call, and soon.

"Your purpose, then, in calling?"

"Ah, yes." He took a quick, dainty sip of his espresso. "I wanted to forewarn you about his face."

"His face," she repeated, deadpan.

"Yes," Nadir said. "Erik wears a mask. He dislikes it when people stare. It makes him...uncomfortable, to put it lightly. Since we are to work closely for some time, it would probably be best to start off on a good note."

"I see."

Thinking he had probably offended her in some way, he continued. "Please, Madame, I do not wish to insult you by saying this. Previous experience in these matters is what prompts me to bring this up. I simply wish for things to go smoothly."

Rather than protest him, like he suspected, she gave a polite, objective response. "Very good, Mr. Khan. I appreciate your warning and will take it into consideration. If that is all, I must see to some paperwork before our meeting. Good morning."

Nadir responded similarly, and hung up.

He picked up his tiny espresso cup. Talking to Giry was not unlike talking with Erik. They were both equally capable of causing whiplash within only a few minutes of conversion. The thought made him chuckle quietly under his breath.

"Something amusing you, Daroga, or should I fear for your mental faculties?"

Nadir jumped, grimacing when a percentage of the contents of his cup spilled onto his shirt. Thankfully the espresso had cooled some, else he would have been burned, in addition to embarrassed.

"Erik! How long have you been standing there?" he admonished in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment.

"Why do you ask, Daroga? Gossiping about me in my absence?"

"N-no! I wasn't gossiping-"

"Calm yourself, Daroga, lest you spill more of that sludge on yourself." Erik gave a wry chuckle. "There is no need to lie to Erik. He always knows."

Nadir tried his best to avoid shuddering. He hated when Erik talked about himself in third person. It was eerie, and it usually did not bode well for him.

Erik sat down opposite Nadir, startling the man badly enough with his actions that he jumped a second time. One of Erik's greatest weapons had always been his ability to be unpredictable. It was why he had not been captured up until very recently.

For his part, Erik looked extremely comfortable sitting there. He crossed his legs, gazing out into the street as if he hadn't a care in the world. Nadir imagined it helped a great deal that there weren't many people around to stop and gawk. If there were, Nadir imagined things would not be so peaceful.

"I imagine I am the very foundation of your existence," Erik continued, impervious as to any change in the mood. "I suppose I should consider myself flattered that you are so concerned with me."

Nadir found this line of reasoning very confusing, but decided it was in his best interests not to challenge him.

"I've always been concerned about you, Erik."

Erik turned about to look at him, peering at him carefully. "Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully. Nadir felt as though he were being scanned from the outside, in. "That's not a lie," he finally concluded, seeming satisfied with the assessment. "Well, not entirely. Perhaps a half truth? You have always been concerned about my affairs, but perhaps, by extension, that has included my wellbeing? I imagine that's only so that my ugly carcass has not been left to rot and pollute the earth." Erik snorted, and the sound was so unlike anything usually made that Nadir looked at him with shock. "You've such a weeping heart, Daroga, caring for some heartless beast as well as environmental issues. Very good."

Nadir couldn't help but roll his eyes. Now Erik was just making fun of him. He had almost forgotten how much of a dramatist Erik could be.

"Careful, Erik. One would almost think you've gotten maudlin in your old age. What must you be now? Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?"

Erik waved his hand around carelessly. "You know I've never bothered to investigate something as trivial as my birth date, Daroga. Unless you were thinking of baking me a cake?"

Nadir smirked. "It might be the best way of making you eat. You're like a mountain goat. However," Nadir said, almost dreamily, a lost look glazing over his eyes, "I do have some memory of you devouring the Turkish Delight I used to bring you back from my travels."

Erik sighed wistfully. "You always had a penchant for kissing ass, Nadir. But I'll grant you, the confection was always well-appreciated," he said with a rare twinkle to his sunken eyes.

Nadir matched his good humor. It was rare to share moments like this, and despite the history between them, Nadir had always cared for Erik, and always would.

"Do not think that I've forgotten your phone call, Daroga."

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Nadir huffed. "I called Giry. Are you happy now, you meddling brute?"

His companion ignored the barb. "We are seeing her in less than an hour."

"As she had happily informed me, yes, I know."

Erik stared at him, mutely prodding for an explanation.

Nadir shook his head. "Oh you are the most difficult…" He trailed off, squeezing the bridge of his nose under his wire spectacles. "I was prepping her for our meeting."

Erik's eyes lit up in understanding, but he appeared more amused than angry. "Ah, Nadir, ever the pragmatist!" He leaned back. "You never fail to perplex. But there! I'll say no more."

He wasn't exactly sure if he won that exchange, but he knew better than to say anything else.

* * *

To Giry's credit, she gave no reaction to the anomaly that was Erik when they walked through her door. The first thing she did was ask the two of them to sit, at which point Erik gave Nadir a pointed glance before complying.

"We appreciate you taking the time, madame."

"As does the government, I'm sure."

Nadir might have been very mistaken, but he thought he saw Erik's lips twitch from the corner of his eye.

"Ah, yes." Nadir cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, right to it, then. How much has Agent Baker told you?"

"Just as much, if not more, than you I'd imagine." Giry opened a drawer in her desk, removed a folder, then placed it on top of the desk. "Here's the file. It's to remain with me, but you may look through the contents."

Nadir gratefully took the folder and read what was inside. It was as she said. It was almost identical to what Nadir had, save for the fact that it was mostly decoded. Nadir carried a folder that had many secrets codes the FBI had invented to keep private information...well, private. Giry likely didn't know the codes, but Nadir would think twice before he bet money on it.

While Nadir read, he could feel Erik and Giry were sizing each other up. Erik hadn't looked away from her since they entered the room. Nadir sighed.

"It appears to all be in order," Nadir said. "I've read much of the same. Cartier as the target, secret terrorist group, etc etc. You've a notion of when this is most likely planned for?"

"The spring." Giry nodded. "We've planned an opera to be performed then."

Erik spoke, his gaze transforming from assessing to curious. "Which one?"

Giry turned to him, her expression surprised, almost as if she hadn't expected him to speak at all. "'The Tender Land.'"

"Ah. Copland."

Giry leaned forward. "Do you have an interest in opera, Erik?"

Erik chuckled, the sound slightly sinister. "You might say that."

Nadir felt irritation and amusement warring within him. He decided to humor the room. "Erik is a musician, Madame. A composer, too."

Giry look disconcerted at the information.

Nadir looked at Erik with confusion, wondering if the man noticed Giry's hesitation. Erik, as always, was stoic, as if he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary at all. Or, more likely, he noticed, and chose not to react.

He had initially thought that Erik's talents and knowledge about opera and music might be an asset to them. But for reasons of her own, Giry had reservations. Nadir didn't share them, but her feelings unsettled him all the same.

"Well," Giry said at length. "That is a rare and fortunate coincidence." Her tone was odd, and it put Nadir further on edge.

Erik merely shrugged and remained silent.

Giry cleared her throat and returned her gaze to Nadir. "The plans for the spring have just recently been announced to the student body and faculty. We have yet to go public with the information, but it has no doubt leaked. The information wasn't exactly password protected. The school tends to make formal announcements in a grandiose fashion, but as you no doubt know, this school thrives on secrets. They're practically currency here, Mr. Khan. The more information you hold in your hands, the better your leverage. We're in a cutthroat business, you see, and being in the nation's capital only exacerbates that fact."

"You think that whatever organization has made threats already has this information in hand?"

"Certainly. We've had threats before, but nothing of this caliber, and nothing that the conservatory as a whole has been aware of. It's been kept need-to-know in the past, and for now, it remains the same. I haven't so much as told my daughter the present threat."

"You have a daughter?" Nadir asked with surprise. Somehow, he didn't picture Giry being the maternal type. Still, her strict, business-like demeanor could mean that she had ample experience keeping children in line.

"Yes," Giry said, her eyes hard. "She's a student here, and therefore one of the threatened parties I intend on protecting."

"You have my word, and Erik's, madame, that your daughter will be safe."

Giry looked at Erik at Nadir's mention, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "I have complete faith that you will, Mr. Khan. And do you know why?"

Nadir's shoulders straightened. "Why?

Giry shifted her gaze to Nadir, her eyes hawk-like with predatory awareness. "Because," she said, "If anything happens to her, you'll have to deal with me."

* * *

He hadn't apprised Nadir of his exact plan. They had briefly discussed how they would patrol the school, specifically how to smoke out the people behind the terrorist threat, but Nadir knew Erik better than to expect him to fully disclose his plans.

And he was right.

Erik had always preferred to work alone. While Nadir had his uses (and they did make a good team, though Erik was loathe to admit it), Erik could accomplish much more on his own. Nadir was too moral to adopt some of Erik's more...efficient methods. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, to cross whatever mythical line Nadir envisioned if it meant meeting their ends. In the past, Nadir would oftentimes slow Erik down to half his productivity. It was unbearable.

He had always been curious about Cartier. The school had only been around for a couple of decades, having been established right around his own birth. And yet, despite its' young age, it had developed a reputation. Many theater and dance companies around the country employed graduates of Cartier. He had researched some of the more famous ones, and had been pleasantly surprised by their education and discipline. The teachers, too, were very good, though some were better than others.

A few teachers held ties to political organizations. Erik didn't like that.

He had not yet informed Nadir, but he had a few ideas of where to start looking. There were teachers and places to investigate where Cartier-affiliated persons were known to meet with suspicious characters. But before he dove into any of that, he wanted to know Cartier. He wanted to walk the grounds, see its' halls, hear its' music. He would know this place inside, out. And there was more to knowing a school than studying its' blueprints.

He waited until later that night to explore the campus. From a distance, the conservatory seemed to operate like any other major university. Classroom buildings, student housing, administrative buildings. The campus itself was aesthetically pleasing, he could admit that much. The grounds were verdant, with their own cherry blossom trees that matched the ones across town at the Jefferson Memorial. The architecture was reminiscent of the founders too in the colonial style, with tall, Grecian pillars, multiple gables and plenty of windows to utilize natural light.

It was quiet at night. Erik wasn't sure what to make of that. It was easy enough to chalk it up to the nature of the students, all of whom were most likely under curfew by their professors. It was a Wednesday night, too, and not too late. Classes might even still be in session.

Erik was torn. He knew that being in this place would inevitably sway him. It was a natural disposition, perhaps, to be intrigued by any institution that fostered musical learning. His love for music ran deep, and having so few opportunities in his life to pursue it often made him desperate. He had the pesky habit of finding some dank, quiet corner in the dead of night to sing or play his violin, if only to satisfy some visceral hunger pang. Music was its' own kind of drug, and Erik had never given sobriety a fair shot.

Curiosity winning out, Erik headed towards the vocal arts building.

Five stories tall, the vocal arts building was a brick-red, rectangular monstrosity. The very top of the building sported a bell tower, as all the music buildings did. He smiled ironically.

Creeping greenery climbed up its' walls, like the tower that caged Sleeping Beauty. Erik could almost envision thick thorns poking out of those vines, warding off any unworthy person (like him) from entering. Shaking himself of this nonsense, he made sure no one was around before walking through the door.

As Erik suspected, a few classes were still going on. He estimated that maybe twenty to twenty-five people were currently on the first floor, with any number on the top floors, practicing. He was thankful for the poor lighting in the hallways, making it easier for him to skulk about without being seen.

He slipped into an empty classroom adjacent to one that was occupied, satisfied to see that he could look through one of the air vents to watch what was happening on the other side of the wall. What he saw both intrigued and disgusted him.

The class was smaller than a lecture hall, but bigger than some of the higher level classes where students worked one on one with the teachers. It was an arena classroom with three levels, shaped in a half moon, rising from the floor level. A large, traditional chalkboard spanned the length of the far wall. There were currently sixteen students in attendance, two of whom were standing at the front of the class. Both were female, one bolder, and curvier, than the other. They were engaged in a duet from an opera Erik was very familiar with.

The curvier girl was a presence. Her voice was louder, more nuanced, than that of the other girl. Her pronunciations were hell to listen to, as was anything outside of her middle register. She was trying too hard to impress, and it showed.

The other girl was a much different story. Volume of her partner aside, the girl was barely trying. He could read it all over face. Erik sneered and turned his attention away from her.

At the completion of the song, the slender, waifish thing rounded off her note crisply and quietly, whereas the red-headed banshee took the opportunity to end in a blasting crescendo. A few of the students towards the back of the class flinched imperceptibly, thinking no one else would notice. How wrong they were.

Someone coughed hoarsely. "Very good Cara, Christine," said a small, white-haired man off to the side. He had been playing the piano. Erik guessed that this was the teacher. "I'm glad to see that you both did your homework over the summer. Your interpretations were, of course, vastly different, but we do not critique in this class, only discuss."

I would gladly critique it for you, Erik thought darkly.

"You will receive my notes, ladies, via email. It is important that we learn where, and when, we go wrong in this piece. And not just in pitch, mind. Overall, however, I can see that you both have put some work into it. I am satisfied for now."

Erik felt his jaw drop. Was the man insane?! Both were horrendous interpretations of the song. Erik nearly felt faint with dismay.

Erik sighed. He would curb his judgment presently. Perhaps there was more to be gained from listening to the others.

He stuck around to listen to a few of the other students sing. Most were passable. Some were even impressive. For some reason, the teacher was more honest about their interpretations. The man had taste, there was no doubt about that. So why the fallaciousness to those two? There was something more to this than Erik knew.

The professor dismissed the class forty-five minutes later. Erik had hardly felt the passing of time. He looked down at his phone and cursed himself for his lack of attention. Anyone could have come walking into the room, seen a strange, masked man spying on a class, and suitably become alarmed. He hadn't even bothered to lock the door! Cursing himself again for his stupidity, his raced to the door, swiped it locked, and returned to his perch.

The students slowly filtered out of the room. The shrieking, loud girl rose and, accompanied by two sycophantic-looking girls, paused by the quiet singer's desk.

"This is why I say you shouldn't even bother, Daae," the redhead simpered. "No point."

Erik normally would have agreed, but instead, he bristled irrationally. He couldn't find it within himself to support a girl who would steamroll a classmate. The Daae girl remained stoic. She watched the girl and her friends depart, missing the teacher storming over towards her.

Erik rose an eyebrow, but continued to watch the scene unfold.

The professor slapped a piece of sheet music on Daae's desk, and looked at her over his wire-framed glasses.

"This section, if you please."

The Daae girl looked up with shock. "Professor Reyer…?"

He shook his head, then beckoned her to follow him to the piano.

The girl swallowed, but obeyed, bringing the sheet of paper with her.

"Pick-up to measure 148."

She nodded meekly. On the cue, she sang, loudly and boldly.

Erik felt like a bolt of lightning had been shot to his chest. Hearing her voice alone, at full strength...it was unlike any experience of his life. He sent a small prayer of thanks to Reyer for having the wisdom to know this girl's potential.

Her voice was...pure. Evocative. Wholesome. Unemotional, however. Robotic even, but surpassing in beauty to almost anything else Erik had ever heard.

In fact, he couldn't think of anything that could compare.

Reyer stopped playing abruptly and turned to her. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

She opened her mouth. "Cara…"

Reyer banged on the piano keys. Erik glared. No instrument deserved that treatment, no matter the impetus.

"I don't like excuses, Christine. Please do not insult me by telling me that Cara intimidates you."

Christine shut her mouth abruptly and looked away.

Reyer sighed, and removed his glasses. "Christine, listen. I am not unsympathetic. I have witnessed the girl heckle you. I am neither blind, nor deaf. But you do know she would not do so were you not so susceptible to it?"

The girl nodded.

"Cara is aware of her advantage. She had been aware since birth. But being so high and mighty means she has more to lose. The smallest threat is a great one. You musn't allow this to deter you from what you want. Do you know what you want, Christine?"

She looked back up, her eyes shining slightly. Reyer gentled his voice.

"I am sure you think you do. Let that be your motivation and your guidepost. If you hang onto that tightly enough, she can't touch you. Yes?"

Christine smiled, and nodded.

"Good," Reyer said, and he smiled too. "Now, off with you. I'll see you Monday."

"Thank you, Professor." Christine gathered her things and scurried off, Reyer following a moment later.

Erik watched the door they had departed through, his mind turning over itself. The girl would need a lot of support in the days to come. Guidance, certainly, in making her potential known, but courage, too. Erik had never been much for encouraging others, but in this particular case he was sure he could…

He shook his head, clearing himself of the idea. It was ridiculous. He didn't have time for a pet project involving some coed.

He had more important things on his plate than Christine Daae.

* * *

Thank you everyone for the support thus far! I know it's slow rolling, but I'm still very much invested in this story. I hope you like it!

Please review! It gives me joy and motivation to keep going! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

"I keep dragging around what's bringing me down  
If I just let go, I'd be set free."  
\- Heavy, Linkin Park

"So this is what you meant  
When you said that you were spent  
And now it's time to build from the bottom of the pit  
Right to the top  
Don't hold back…"  
\- It's Time, Imagine Dragons

Nadir pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes from the sight of the starch white papers laid out before him. His eyes had been steadily drying out for the past hour, no thanks to the air conditioner that was on full blast to ward off the summer heat. He was coming precariously close to giving up for the night. It was too bad that that wasn't an option at the moment.

Under normal circumstances Nadir found research to be invigorating. He liked the idea that useful information was entering a mental database, ready to be used at any given moment. His mind was still as sharp as ever, even if he was getting on in years.

But for this particular case, Nadir wasn't sure he wanted to know any more.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he was investigating possible terrorist organizations with ties back to his home country. He had been involved in doing just that for the last ten years or so, helping to divulge information that was worth even more than his life was. For Nadir, it had been a sort of privilege helping to stop atrocities from taking place. He liked to think he was instrumental in decimating several operations that would have resulted in significant loss of life.

Nor was it because it involved Erik, although that alone should have given him pause.

No, Nadir felt hesitant because this mission involved protecting children.

Well, not _children_ , per se. The students attending Cartier were no longer categorized under that grouping. But they were _someone's_ children. They were young, recently freed from the protection of their parents' home, and so very susceptible to bad influences. Some were luckier than others, and would have cushioning to support their transition. Some would be less fortunate, and would find the world to be quite cruel indeed.

Madame Giry's mention of keeping her daughter safe had changed things for Nadir. It had put things into perspective. He had never worked on a case before where the threat was domestic. Knowing that terrorists were planning something in their territory made him very motivated. He considered the United States to be his home, now. He would do whatever it took it protect it and the people who lived there.

To that end, Nadir would start by protecting the students that attended this school, starting with Giry's daughter. After all, he knew _that_ feeling intimately. The feeling that stays with you from the moment your child is born. Even contemplating the idea that your child could be in danger was enough to make a parent lose sleep at night.

Iran had never been a safe place, but ironically, it hadn't been violence that had lost Nadir his wife and child. No, it had been something _so_ cliche.

Dead wife. Dead child. All in one go.

He had thrown himself into work after that. It was perhaps why he had tolerated the constant chaos that Erik's presence had brought to his world. Assigned as Erik's personal babysitter had kept Nadir occupied 24/7. Dealing with a godless, masked demon was a distraction from facing his personal ones.

Time would prove that Erik wasn't _really_ a demon, even if everyone in the Iranian government seemed to think so. Like many geniuses throughout history, Erik had been lured to Iran with promises of freedom, power, and immense wealth. He had enjoyed two of those things, at length, for some time. The freedom part was an illusion, of course. Nadir had known that from the start. Looking back on it, he often wondered if Erik had; it was anyone's guess if he had been naive, or simply content to pretend.

Nadir looked down at his phone, and sighed. He had texted Erik six hours ago, and he hadn't answered. For the third time that hour, he opened up the text message and scrolled down to the very bottom.

 _Erik, I havent heard from u in 12 hrs. What r u up 2?_

 _(Read 8:09 AM.)_

Erik, the brute, found it humorous to leave the 'read' function on his phone. It seemed as though he took unholy enjoyment from antagonizing Nadir.

It wasn't unusual for Erik to ignore him, of course, but it irritated him all the same. The FBI wasn't the only entity uncomfortable with having Erik on the loose in the nation's capital.

He placed the cursor in the text box and started typing a new message.

 _Erik, b responsible for once, by Allah. FBI not taking kindly 2 this._

He almost dropped his phone in surprise when he saw the dots to indicate Erik was answering him.

 _I am not setting fire to this dreadful town, if that is your worry, Daroga. I have simply been a little...distracted._

Nadir's brow furrowed.

 _Distracted by what? What r u doing Erik?_

There was a pause between texts before Erik responded.

 _Simply canvassing the campus, as we discussed._

Nadir felt his curiosity spike.

 _Have u seen or herd anything of note? From the students? Faculty?_

 _Nothing that would interest Baker, in any case,_ answered Erik in his enigmatic fashion. He continued. _The excitement of the start of the semester is still strong. Once that dies down, there will be more opportunity to discover something._

 _We might want 2 consider asking Agent B 2 bug certin cmn areas._

 _Nadir, your attempt at shorthand is deplorable. I refuse to answer you when you use numbers in place of words._

Nadir laughed out loud. _Its quicker!_

 _How charming. And as to your suggestion, perhaps. I shall determine where best to place them. It will not do to place sensitive technology throughout a college campus where any idiot might break it._

Nadir smiled thinly.

 _Including yourself._

His smile died.

He could only imagine how pleased Erik was with himself on the other end, and held back a groan. The man was a walking, talking test in Nadir's patience.

 _Whatever you say, Erik._ Erik didn't respond after that, which was in line with what Nadir expected. He was lucky if he was able to hold Erik's attention for any period of time. The masked man was constantly in flux, his attention diverted and his mind running a million miles per hour. He liked to joke that Nadir had no hopes of keeping up, and Nadir couldn't help but agree with him.

His concern from earlier brushed against his mind. He scrolled through the rest of his text messages, which were sadly few in number. The second one from the top was none other than Agent Baker himself. It was a message he had received hours ago, one that made Nadir's stomach turn over every time he saw it.

 _You'd better give me something soon, Khan. Or else._

At the rate to which things were going, Nadir didn't think either of them would last too long.

* * *

"Wait, what?" Meg asked her mother, unable to believe her ears.

Madame Giry stared at her daughter, unimpressed. "The auditions have been moved, Margaret." Meg made a face, as she always did, when her mother used her full name. "The deans, we all agreed." She straightened her glasses and looked back down at the paperwork on her desk.

"But _why_?" Meg almost whined.

Her mother huffed an impatient sigh. "Contrary to popular belief, daughter, I cannot tell you everything that goes on in this school. As much," she added, holding up a finger when Meg started to protest, "As you wish I would."

Meg squirmed. "But...what about Christine? She has her heart set on it! This isn't fair!"

Madame Giry looked at her daughter sternly. "Meg," she said. "Let me make myself clear. You will, under _no_ circumstances whatsoever, tell Christine that the audition has been changed." She looked at her daughter, opening her eyes widely to almost comedic proportions. "Nor will you tell her that they're to take place a week from today, at ten AM, in Alder Hall. Do you understand, Meg?" She gave her daughter a long, significant glance, as if conveying something of utmost importance.

Meg's frown slowly transformed from one of confusion and anger to a slow smile of understanding. She walked around her mother's desk, bent down, and kissed her on the cheek sweetly. She giggled.

A light briefly flared in the dean's eyes before simmering back to her usual cool gaze. "Yes, well, off you go, Meg. I've got paperwork to do."

"Yes, ma'am," Meg said obediently. She walked calmly out of her mother's office, shut the door primly behind her, and took a breath.

Then, she broke into a sprint.

She dodged around the masses of students walking around campus, flying past them without a care for how she looked. Distantly, she knew that running across campus was a little ridiculous, but she wanted to tell Christine, and she wanted to tell her face-to-face.

In record time, Meg burst into their dorm room, her eyes wild and her hair flying.

"You will not _believe_ what I just got out of my mom."

Christine was tidying the kitchen up when Meg ran in. A couple of soapy suds dripped from her hands as she turned to gaze at Meg. Her mouth pulled in a half-smirk. "Hi Meg, my day was great, thanks for asking. How was yours?"

Meg scoffed, dropping her backpack onto the floor unceremoniously. "Don't distract me with small talk, Christine Daae, I've got juicy news."

Christine dried off her hands and turned to face Meg fully, giving the excitable girl her full attention. "My apologies. Please continue," she said, sweeping her hand grandly.

Meg fell into a nearby chair. "Auditions were moved up to next Friday for the spring opera. They're keeping it on the DL, thinking that if fewer undergrads know about it, they'll miss their chance to audition. It's their covert attempt to indulge the seniors. Apparently they've done nothing but hee and haw about it since the open audition was announced." Meg rolled her eyes.

Christine paled. "Friday?" she said weakly. "But...I thought it was scheduled for September 22nd?"

Meg tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that changed. I think they were planning on holding the auditions, casting the show, then advertising that they had chosen the cast from the "early auditions", something which was apparently posted on all the bulletin boards." Meg gave Christine a shrewd look. " _Those_ announcements aren't even printed yet. The flyer was emailed to my mom an hour ago, telling her not to post it until the Thursday before."

Meg watched frustration and helplessness warred on Christine's face. She felt a pang of sympathy for her friend. They both understood that this was the kind of underhanded thing that sometimes happened at Cartier. It was why Meg felt the need to help out her friend. Christine had had enough obstacles in her life. Meg wanted to see her succeed, damn it!

Christine rubbed her temples. "I'm going to have to cancel on Raoul for tomorrow," she muttered.

Meg pointed a finger at her. "Don't you dare," she ordered. "You will _not_ let this interfere with your life, Christine! You can prepare in one week. It's not great, but you can do it. I know you can."

Christine shook her head. "You don't understand," she said. "Not only am I competing against the upper class, but I'm also competing against _myself_. Reyer has already called me out on my lack of confidence. How am I supposed to mentally _and_ physically prepare in one week?"

Meg crossed her arms, unmoved. "Christine, you know how amazing you are. You don't need anyone else to tell you that! It's all in your head. You just have to psyche yourself up." Meg eyes lit up. "You should do what I do, you know."

Christine looked at her curiously. "Oh, and what's that?"

Meg shrugged. "Take a shot of bourbon before the audition."

Christine lifted an eyebrow. "Does your mom know about _that_ little pre-audition ritual?"

Meg's eyes went wide. "Are you kidding me?" she play-whispered. "She'd have my head!" She made a slashing gesture with her finger across her throat, dramatically acting as though the blood were gushing out. Christine rolled her eyes.

"Lovely," Christine said helpfully.

Meg smiled, straightening. "I know. I really should have been an actress instead of a ballerina." She shoved at Christine's arm. "Who knows? Maybe _I'll_ be your competition."

"Sure," Christine allowed, "Except you can't tell the difference between a cello and a french horn."

"I can too! The cello is the big guitar." She stuck her tongue out.

Christine laughed. Meg sighed in relief. She felt like she succeeded in helping Christine after all.

"Fine," Christine consented. "I'll still see Raoul tomorrow. But I'm headed straight to the music building after dinner tonight."

"See?" Meg said, looking superior. "I knew you could have a bit of fun, too."

* * *

Not four hours later, Christine had trapped herself inside one of the practice rooms in the music building. Wednesday's assignment for Reyer's class sat on music stand, taunting her. She wrung her hands, staring at the sheet music like it might bite her.

 _This is ridiculous,_ she berated herself. _Why are you so scared? It's an audition, not the end of the world._

But it _did_ feel like it was the end of the world. She couldn't explain it, but it felt as though so much were riding on this audition. She needed to ace it. Not only for her future career, but for _her_.

She wasn't in the habit of doing things for herself. After her mother died, she had taken care of her father, and after he had died, she had moved in with Mrs. Valerius, who she had inevitably ending up taking care of, too. This felt like the first thing in a long time she was doing for herself. College, in a way, had also been for her dad, and for Mrs. Valerius, because they had wanted it for her. But _this,_ auditioning when she really wasn't supposed to, felt like a change. It felt like she was branching out for once.

Christine knew she had obstacles to overcome. She wasn't like her peers, the girls she would be competing against. She was more than aware of that.

Connecting was difficult. She was far more spiritual than them, for one thing. She believed wholeheartedly that her mother and father were watching from above. She attended church (almost) every Sunday, and she would quietly pray to herself throughout the day.

It had helped that religion had always accompanied music.

There were other ways she differed, however. She was quieter than the others, more introspective. She had fewer friends, and didn't party. She had done her share, of course, with Meg in their previous year, but it was rare that she threw caution to the wind. She was _so_ careful, and sometimes she hated that she was.

Sometimes, she just wished she could live recklessly.

Her father's passing had sucked something vital from Christine. Logically, she knew people were not supposed to react to death the way she had. Her reaction had been...unhealthy. All the therapists had thought so, even if they hadn't been willing to say it. It was yet another reason she didn't have many friends. No one had had patience for her bouts of melancholy. Meg, bless her, was able to handle it, perhaps due to the never ending well of cheerfulness that the girl had inside of herself. Christine couldn't imagine life without her, but she also envied Meg's cheer with a bitterness that was nearly dark in nature.

She had considered giving up her music altogether after her father had died. Music was her connection to her father, after all, and with it's great beauty came great pain. For a time, it didn't seem worth it. Nothing had.

But some small voice inside of her had urged her not to. It had promised that there was so much to look forward to, that surely, after all the pain, there could only be good things to come...

She tried to concentrate. A headache was already starting to form. _One week to prepare_ , she thought morosely. _It's not going to happen._

Shaking her head back and forth to pop out the kinks in her neck and shoulders, she warmed herself up, readying her voice for a long night of practice.

She had been running through the song for the second time when she was suddenly interrupted.

 _"_ _You're doing that all wrong."_

She spun sharply, casting a frantic glance behind her. There was no one there.

"Who said that?" she asked, pressing a shaking hand to the pounding pulse in her neck. No response was forthcoming, and despite Christine's initial fright, she tried to shake it off.

 _Must be a student playing a stupid prank,_ she thought morosely. Rolling out her shoulders, she took a few deep breaths before she began again.

" _No, no_ , **_no_** _,_ " the mysterious voice grounded out. The tone was male, harsh, and biting. She gave a small yelp at the return of the voice, jumping a little in shock. _"Are you purposely trying to demolish that phrase?"_

Christine felt indignation well up inside her. She strode towards the door, ready to end to the commentary once and for all. " _Excuse_ _me_? Who are _you_?"

She flung open the door to the room and looked out. Her stomach dropped at the sight of the empty hallway. There wasn't a single soul out there.

 _Strange..._

"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, wondering.

 _"_ _It doesn't matter,"_ the voice replied, sounding as if he was standing right behind her. She jumped again, placing a hand over her wildly-beating chest and glaring in the general direction the voice had come from. _"Answer my question."_

"What question?" Christine asked, distracted. She was too busy glancing around the room, trying to picture his hideaway. She shut the door behind her absently.

He sighed. _"The phrase? Do you despise it that much, or is it the piece as a whole that you find so offensive?"_

Whoever this person was, Christine thought to herself, he was terribly impatient. She crossed her arms, huffing at his rudeness. " _No,_ " she answered, her eyes flinty. "It's a difficult piece of music, okay? It was my first assignment for the semester, and it's way harder than it's supposed to be. And while Cara Bergamasco gets to sing _Voi che sapete,_ I have to sing _this_." She gestured to the piece on the piano with disgust.

There was a moment of silence in which Christine could feel the tension heavy upon the air. She waited for the man to reply, to say something before she combusted from the heat in the room, when he softly spoke.

 _"_ _You would compare yourself to that shrieking she-demon?"_ he said in dangerous tones. _"Cara Bergamasco is a stain on this conservatory, and it is a profound shame that she has not been thrown out on her backside."_

Christine spluttered in shock at his blunt description of the conservatory's most promising student. "B-but-"

 _"_ _I have listened to you for all of twenty seconds, and I already know you have more talent in your little finger than Miss Bergamasco has in her entire body."_

Christine felt her face flame, and without realizing what she was doing, she raised a cold hand to her cheek to lessen the burn. Her anger with him had disappeared in a flash.

"I'm nothing special," she said quietly.

A pause. _"I may not know you, girl, but I do know that feeling sorry for oneself never gets you anywhere. People will take and take and take for themselves, and if you do not put out your hand, you will never have anything for yourself. Cara Bergamasco may seem like she has the world on her plate, but that's only because she's gone to the effort to take it, even if the means are unsavory. Do you think she succeeds on talent alone?"_ He chuckled darkly in wry amusement, thinking of some joke that was surely lost on Christine.

Christine swallowed, understanding slow but still forthcoming. "So," she said, a bit angrily, "what you're saying is that I should do what the rest of the girls at this school do? Sleep my way to the top?"

He seemed to hesitate, and the tension from earlier seemed to build up once more. " _No_ ," he said. Then, more emphatically, " ** _no_** _._ "

"Well, then. Glad we're on the same page." Christine let out a deep sigh, looking back at her music forlornly. "So what would you suggest I do? I don't have enough time to learn a new song. And I can't afford a private tutor…"

 _"_ _I wish I could help you, Miss Daae. I'm afraid, talented as you are, there will be a long road ahead of you yet. Farewell."_

She looked up sharply at his sudden departure. "You - wait! I didn't get your name!"

But it was too late. He was gone.

And she didn't get the chance to ask how he knew hers.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! I'm so, so sorry for the long delay. I kind of lost the momentum there for a while and couldn't get back on a track. But I dove in and here we are! I hope it turned out okay.

I really thought this was going to be a short chapter just so I could get something out, but it looks like it ended up being a decent length. As always, this is un-Beta'd. To have a Beta would be a dream, of course...(I'll let that hang there. If there are any takers, I'd love to have you!)

Thank you for reading, now enjoy!

* * *

"Halfway between

Where I've been

And where I'm going

In between wondering why

And finally knowing."

\- "Crossing a Bridge", Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty

She went home that night feeling a little foolish.

She felt stupid for responding to someone who was obviously messing with her, and moreover, distracting her. After he had left her alone, she had had a difficult time focusing. He had thrown her off balance. An unfortunate, but positive result of the exchange had been Christine's slight elevation in confidence. She knew for a fact she was less talented than Cara, but hearing someone else give her kind feedback was heartening.

It was highly possible she imagined the whole thing. The practice rooms were small, and had zero discernible nooks or crannies. Not to mention that when she looked out into the hallway, there hadn't been a soul in sight.

She summed up the entire experience to stress and too little sleep. Hearing voices wasn't exactly a sign of top-notch mental health after all. The best thing to do would be to keep herself from thinking about it.

Trouble was, it was all she _could_ think about. No one had ever expressed to her that there was any true potential to her voice. Well, except Professor Reyer, and Meg, but their encouragement always seemed to stem from a place of bias. Meg was biased because she was Christine's friend, and Reyer was biased because he was Christine's teacher. They both wanted to see her succeed by merit of their connection to her.

She had been gliding along for years, coasting by on the idea that maybe one day she would get to sing in the chorus of some opera house if she worked hard enough.

But to hear the praise that man gave her last night…

 _It doesn't matter!_ she thought to herself wildly. _He was a figment of your imagination! Of course he would think you're better than Cara!_

But Christine wasn't so sure.

She considered telling Raoul about what had happened. But what would she even say? _The strangest thing happened to me in the practice room last night! This voice randomly starting talking to me, critiquing my singing. An eavesdropping student, you say? Of course, that must have been it. But there was no one in the hallway when I opened the door! The intercom system, yes, that's surely it. Except we don't have one…?_

She knew what it would sound like. Years of therapy hadn't convinced anyone that Christine's psyche was completely in tact. She had been so isolated as a child, traveling from city to city with her father as her only company. She wasn't naive; she knew it had resulted in somewhat of a stunted social development. Years in public school had remedied that to some degree, but losing her father had been a great blow to her peace of mind. She had periodically suffered from lucid dreams in which her father was the star. It plagued her mind upon waking, making her believe for a few pleasant moments that her father was still alive. The crash of reality was like losing him all over again.

But she had never heard voices until now. The voice hadn't sounded anything like her father's. Her father had had a rugged tone, slightly gruff, but warm. The voice she had heard in the practice room had been cold. It was higher in pitch, but indisputably masculine. The timber was resounding, as if his voice came from everywhere at once. It had made her feel like she was speaking to a spirit rather than flesh and bone man. And he hadn't revealed himself, so what was she to think? She knew ghosts weren't real, but if it were a man was who spying on her, where could he have possibly been hiding?

* * *

"I hope you like chicken salad. It's all I know how to make." Raoul looked at her sheepishly, his boyish face scrunched up in concern.

Christine smiled. "Chicken salad sounds great. I wouldn't know where to start to make it, so you've got one up on me!"

Raoul returned her smile, looking more at ease. He unpacked the backpack he had brought along, placing the various Tupperware containers on Christine's threadbare red blanket.

"I can't believe you still have this ratty old thing." Raoul said playfully, fingering the blanket they sat on.

Christine made a face at him. "Hey, don't insult the blanket! It's been a faithful companion through the years."

"Ah, but of course!" he said grandly. "After all, wasn't this the same blanket that I retrieved for you when it blew off in the wind?"

Christine play-scowled at him. "Of course it is! Don't tell me you've forgotten how we met, Raoul de Chagny."

Raoul put a hand over his chest, happy to play along. "On my honor, I could never!" Christine sniffed, and he continued. "Why, it was my most harrowing moment to date!"

"Was it?" Christine said, skepticism seeping into her voice.

"But of course!" He swept his hand grandly. "Jumping over fences, climbing up the jungle gym, leaping into the air! It was a miracle I hadn't broken any bones in the process."

"No," agreed Christine, "Just received a few bumps and bruises for your trouble."

"Nan was furious ," Raoul said with relish, almost as if he could see his old nanny in his mind's eye. "She was a horror. She used to hide the Gushers from me and Philippe and would tattle on us to our parents at every turn."

"Still," Christine mused, "You seemed to turn out OK."

"Yeah, _luckily_."

They settled into eating quietly, casting surreptitious glances at each other every once in awhile. Her mind began to wonder back to the night before, almost without her permission. It hadn't gone unnoticed.

Raoul lowered his sandwich to his lap, looking at her with concern. "Hey, is everything OK?"

She looked up, surprised. It took her a moment to realize she had gotten lost in her thoughts. She smiled, trying to recover herself. "Yeah, why?

Raoul shrugged. "I lost you there for a second. You sure nothing's bothering you?"

She hesitated. It took her a beat or two, but decided that it was probably harmless enough to tell him after all. "Just had kind of a weird encounter last night."

Raoul immediately sobered. "What kind of an encounter?"

Christine shook her head, curls bouncing against her cheek with each toss. "Nothing bad. Just someone interrupting me when I was practicing in the music building. At least, I think there was someone there. I'm not really sure."

She described the experience to Raoul. His brow furrowed, looking displeased with what she told him.

"Christine, you need to be careful. Cartier doesn't exactly have a great reputation for keeping its' female students safe." He considered her. "Maybe you should have someone go with you when you practice."

"I don't have anyone I can ask," she confessed. "Meg, my roommate, is the only person I really hang out with, and she has enough going on."

"Well then, maybe I can walk you to them? Or you can practice at my place? I have a spare room you could use."

She waved his offer off, blushing a little at the invitation to his house. "No, Raoul, really. It's OK. I'm really in no danger at school. We're a female-heavy campus. We overrun the men 3 to 1," she joked halfheartedly.

Raoul looked unmoved. "I don't know, Christine. I don't like it. I don't want to worry you for no reason, but I haven't heard good things lately about Cartier."

Christine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Philippe told me. Well, I wheedled it out of him, more like. He said that there are a lot of politicians with not-so great connections to students at Cartier."

"No offense, Raoul, but that isn't exactly news. It's been going on for as long as I've been at school, and I'm sure it's a tradition that predates me by many years."

"I know, but I don't think it's just the sexual affairs. I think Cartier is Capitol Hill's dirty little secret in more ways that one."

"What do you mean?"

Raoul cringed. "I'm really not supposed to say, Christine. It's all speculation, but Philippe thinks the corruption is rampant. These are very powerful people. He's warned me not to get involved in your school if I want to have a career in politics. Just...be careful, OK?"

She nodded. "Don't worry, Raoul. I'll be fine." She grinned. "Who knows? Maybe it's just the ghost everyone's always talking about."

Raoul laughed with her. "That would be the least of your school's problems!"

* * *

The day out had been good for her. Her skin was warm and glowing from the time spent in the sun, and her mood had vastly improved. She had been able to take her mind off her insecurities, as well as the confusion from the night before.

She was glad she had listened to Meg. The day had been full of good food, good weather...and good company. Raoul had always been good for her, and she felt grateful that they were friends again.

She showered quickly when she got back to the dorm. She was a little tired from the day, but she needed the rehearsal time, and thought a shower would perk her up. She dressed into something comfortable, twisting her damp hair into a tight braid. It was only when she looked at her sheet music that she paused, remembering.

Christine bit her lip. Was it smart to go back there after what had happened? She didn't feel threatened, but the experience had certainly been strange.

Trouble was, it was the best and most convenient place to rehearse on campus. She didn't seem to have much of a choice.

"Out again?" Meg chimed when she saw Christine readying.

Christine lifted her head, nodding in her friend's direction. "Yup. Gotta get that rehearsal time in while I have it."

Meg smiled. "Proud of you. Don't work too hard!"

Christine grimaced around a smile. "I won't. Bye!"

She left wondering whether she should have told Meg about what happened the night before. She didn't think she had any cause to worry, but it might have been a good idea to let someone know of her comings and goings. She grabbed her phone out of her bag and typed a text as she walked.

 _Hey, can you send me a text if I'm not home by ten? You'll be up by then, right?_

She didn't have to wait long for a reply.

 _You DO know who you're talking to, right?_

Christine smiled. Meg was most likely going out, as she usually did on the weekend. She would get home long after Christine did.

 _You're the best!_ she quickly replied.

Her practice room was empty and waiting for her when she got there. The building was quieter than usual, typical for a Saturday night. Under normal circumstances, she would have been grateful for it, but she wouldn't have minded a few more people around tonight.

 _Don't be silly, Christine,_ she scolded herself. _You'll be fine. Just focus on your music._

She shut the door firmly behind her, locking it for good measure. She set down her bag, took out her sheet music, and laid it on the stand.

She took a few minutes to warm up, moving around the room curiously, letting the sound wash over her. It was a familiar friend, a constant companion that had stayed with her throughout the years. It was her consolation, her joy, and even her sorrow. She tried to nurture it as best as she could, but her insecurities often drove her to shy away from her own capabilities. She wished she could be less afraid, and have the confidence of Cara. _If only, if only…_

Warm-ups finished, she sang one of her usual pieces, if just to give herself a bit of a confidence boost. Ten minutes later, she dove back into her audition piece.

She was a quarter of the way in when she stopped. She shivered a little, a breeze blowing through the air. _Perhaps just the air conditioner adjusting,_ she thought.

 _"Still going forward with this piece, then?"_

She closed her eyes. No one is there, just ignore it…

 _"I must admit, I think even **I** am becoming sick of it."_

That broke her peace. "You could always just leave me alone?" she suggested, a hint of rancor in her voice.

The voice was silent, and Christine smiled a little to herself. Maybe that'll show him, she thought.

She waited a moment to see if he had truly left, and just when she was beginning to believe that he had, he spoke again.

 _"I thought about what you said the other day. About being interested in a...tutor."_

That she wasn't expecting. "I….yeah?" she replied, lost for words.

He continued. _"I have never taken on a student myself, but the idea seized me as intriguing. Seeing as how we've become acquainted, and I am already on campus, it would be convenient for me to give you some guidance. I also have an idea of where you can improve. It seems only natural that I would be the one to aid you."_

Christine blinked a few times, trying to understand. He was capable of diverging from the current train of thought with ease, and it unsettled her. Hadn't he been insulting her just minutes ago?

"But...why would you want to help me? You don't seem to like me very much."

 _"_ Like _you? What need have I to_ like _you?"_

She bristled a little at that. But perhaps he had a point. She wasn't in the market for a friend. She had Meg, and now Raoul, too. What she did need, however, was someone to help her with her audition.

In the end, she supposed it was a fair question. After all, they hadn't even met face to face. It seemed unlikely she could form any sort of attachment to someone whose face she couldn't see.

 _"You're hesitant,"_ he observed. _"That's understandable. After all, I've hardly given you any qualifications that would prove that I know what I'm talking about. But perhaps...an example?"_

She pursed her lips, but nodded.

 _"Very good,"_ he said. _"Now, if you'd be so kind, repeat that last phrase again, but do not breathe before the whole note, you do not need to. Shoulders back, feet parallel, one slightly in front of the other. Good. Core tight. Chin out just a little...yes, very good. One thing more, do not try so hard to roll your r's, let it happen naturally. Don't think about it. Now try."_

She did as he bade her. From the command in his voice alone, she could tell he knew what he was talking about. His confidence in her was ingraining, and it was that factor, if not the rest of his instructions, that made her sound better. Her eyes widened when she finished, the knowledge of what they had achieved in just that moment making her heart race.

 _"Better already,"_ he said with composure.

"Yeah," she agreed, glancing over towards the music.

She knew she shouldn't really entertain the idea, but she needed this. And he was the only offer she had.

"How would this work?" she asked quietly.

 _"Just like this. I'll come to you at eight, as I've done the last two nights, and we'll work until we stop. When did you say your audition was?"_

"This Friday," Christine said with a gulp.

He hummed. _"Not ideal. I'd like more time than that to work with you, of course, but we'll take what we have and make the best of it."_

She nodded, unconscious that she was doing so. It hadn't even occurred to her to refuse him.

She opened her mouth. "I know you must have better things to do, but this audition is _really_ important to me. So, I guess, if you really wouldn't mind…."

" _Yes_?" he said impatiently, waiting for her answer.

"I would like that. I really would. I could…" Here she searched for something, anything other than paying him, which she could not. She made an educated guess. "I could grade papers for you?" Surely he was a professor, or a TA at the least, with all his knowledge?

He scoffed. _"I don't have papers to grade."_

She frowned. "Oh. Well then...uh…" She looked at the wall blankly, having no idea what else to offer him.

She heard him sigh. _"It is fine, Miss Daae. I have the time to spare, and I do not require nor desire anything. Save your commitment and improvement."_

She beamed. "Well that's...great! Thank you so much! It means a lot!"

He said, _"Fine."_ And with that ringing note of finality, they were done discussing it. _"Now, from the beginning. Let's see what we can do in six days."_

* * *

A bit of a disclaimer here, I am by no means an expert in vocal technique. I've been singing since I was in elementary school, so I'd like to think I have a teensy bit of an idea about what singing's all about, but honestly, I really don't. I have only my own personal experience to go by, and second-hand from other phics (especially when it comes to opera). Please bear with me. If you have any suggestions or corrections for me, I'm happy to hear them and expand my horizons!

As always, please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Jamie Marston was _so_ ready to go home. Still a little hungover from the night before, she had been baking under the sun for half the day, and drinking rosé with Cecilia Straton the other half. Both girls had dedicated themselves to becoming brown as nuts before the weather turned, and had done valiant jobs at it thus far. Even after spending 8 hours in each other's company, much was still left unsaid, necessitating a phone call for Jamie's walk home.

"Becky's nowhere _near_ ready to move to the front of the line," Jamie said with confidence, her step unhurried. She was light on her toes, and just the slightest bit careless as she walked. "I heard Loren say so herself, and everyone knows she's retaining her position this year. Madame always calls her," she paused, and continued in a bad French accent, "' _My most dedicated dancer.'"_

A dark shape turned a corner in front of her, but she paid no mind.

"And Catriona _swears_ she heard Madame say that she would advance _me_ this year." A pause. "I know, right? It's about damn time. At least she doesn't show preferential treatment to her daughter. Then I'd be fighting a battle on _two_ fronts!"

The girl with the phone to her ear walked more slowly, her eyes darting around. Something felt off. She paused, then rolled her eyes at something Cecilia said.

"Well, yes, of course Meg is enormously talented. That's not exactly new-"

She cut herself off at the sound of rushing footsteps. She turned to look behind her, but there was no one there.

In fact, there wasn't a single soul out.

Jamie shook her head, and answered Cecilia. "Yeah, I'm fine, campus is just _super_ quiet. Weird, it's only 9 o'clock," she remarked.

She was about to begin walking again when a figure appeared in front of her, standing about a hundred feet away. It was too dark to see his face. She felt his eyes on her, staring her down, and she gave an involuntary shudder. He took a couple of steps towards her when, out of nowhere, another figure raced towards him and threw something at him, knocking the first man down to his knees. Jamie screamed.

"Oh my g-d, oh my g-d, oh my g-d…"

Cecilia was shouting into the phone, but Jamie wasn't listening. Her eyes were riveted to the scene before her, frozen and unable to think.

The man on the ground met eyes with his assailant, cowering before him. The assailant seemed to say something to the other, which made him quickly get to his feet and scurry away.

Jamie swallowed, feeling no less safe. The assailant continued to stand to the side, but slowly turned his head towards her. She couldn't see his face either, but felt dread wash down her spine all the same.

"He won't bother you again," said a man's voice in her ear. "If anyone else harasses you, call campus police. I have better things to do than babysit all of you."

Jamie jumped. The words had entered into her ear as if someone were standing next to her, but the only person around was the man several feet before her. She looked to the side, then back to him. She opened her mouth to reply, but he was gone.

"It was the _weirdest_ experience of my life! I was scared to death, you know? I thought _one_ of them was going to kill me! Thank g-d Cici was on the phone with me!"

Lunchtime on Monday saw the campus flooded with student life. The quad was much busier than it had been the night before, teeming with students soaking up sunshine and running to their next class. Jamie, Cecilia, Loren, Amy, Meg, and Christine sat together at a wooden table, each picking at their food, far more interested in Jamie's story than in their lunch.

"And he had the _creepiest_ voice!" Jamie continued. "Deep, but high too, you know? Definitely a tenor, I'd bet my life on it."

"You think the ghost that haunts the school is that of a dead student?" Meg said, doubt coloring her tone.

"Well, no," Jamie said, stumbling a little, "He sounds older than that. But I can just tell, that's all."

"Why do you think it's a ghost at all?" Christine asked. "Didn't you see him push the other guy? Ghosts can't push." Christine's face was colored with doubt. They all heard her unspoken additive: _Ghosts aren't real._

" _Christine_ ," Meg implored. "It wasn't _a_ ghost. It was _The_ Ghost."

Christine sighed.

"He didn't _push_ him," Jamie clarified. "He threw something at him. Probably a rock or something."

"That's weird," Meg stated.

Jamie nodded. "I know. But whatever it was, it worked! That guy was scared shitless. He ran for the hills!"

"Tell them what else he said, Jamie," Cecilia piped in. "Right after he disappeared."

Jamie straightened. "He said, 'Run now, little mouse.' How weird is that, right?"

"Maybe he called you a mouse because you're a ballerina?" Amy said.

"What does that have to do with being a ballerina?" Jamie frowned.

"Because of the Nutcracker, of course!"

"That's dumb, why would a ghost know about The Nutcracker?"

Meg put a hand to her forehead and rubbed it. Christine had to keep from giggling. She couldn't help it. The dance majors _did_ tend towards the dramatic.

"That's it?" Meg asked, dropping her hand away. "Did he say anything else?"

"Well, no," Jamie said, deflated. "Just the thing about not being here to protect us all."

"How weird is that?" Meg asked. "What do you think he meant by it?"

"He probably just wants to go about his afterlife in peace. Doesn't want to be wasting it chasing after you hooligans," Loren said, fond amusement in her voice.

"But it was definitely him!" Jamie said. "If not for his warning, then definitely for that voice. And he spoke right into my ear, even though he wasn't anywhere near me! A normal person couldn't do that."

"Same thing happened to me!" Amy said. She was second shortest after Cecilia, and had dark hair that curled around her ears. Christine noted that she didn't normally hang around this group, and was probably trying to get into their good graces by spreading even more gossip. "I was singing to myself as I stretched in the hallway, and he told me to stick to what I was good at! He was so mean!" Christine noted that she appeared delighted, rather than stung.

"Did you see him?" Meg asked, clearly in thrall.

"No," Amy said sadly. "I thought I saw a shadow, but it was just the stray cat that hangs out around campus."

"Haven't seen the cat around as much these days," Meg mused. "Maybe the Ghost has been feeding her."

The rest of the girls giggled, the image of a ghost holding a cat enough to warrant a few chuckles.

"What do you think he wants?" Amy asked, her voice gleefully quiet.

"Some say he's been around for _decades_ ," Meg added.

"Your mom, then," Christine added, dodging a swat from her best friend.

"He's probably just a perv who likes watching us change out of our leotards," Cecilia said in her low, raspy voice. The other girls appeared outraged but laughed anyways.

"Maybe he's lonely?" Christine suggested. The girls looked towards her.

"What makes you say that, Chris?" Meg asked. "Have _you_ heard the Ghost?"

Christine paused, met the eyes focused on her.

"No, don't be ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "It's just that…if he's the only ghost here, it's got to be lonely, right?"

Meg shrugged. "Fair enough. But you wouldn't hold out on me if you heard something, right, Chris? Not on _me_ of all people?"

Christine gave her a flat look. "You know I don't believe in this ghost nonsense, Meg."

Meg scoffed. The other girls, to their credit, didn't look offended. "That's alright," Loren said, winking in Christine's direction. "It's good to have skeptics. Keeps us honest."

"Right! And when you finally hear the Ghost yourself, you'll know we were right all along! And it'll be that much sweeter!" Amy declared.

Meg crossed her arms. "She better not hear him before me, I'll tell you that much!"

The bell tolled to signal that the hour was up. The girls dispersed, all heading in different directions.

"I'll see you after class? Or are you headed straight to the music building?" Meg asked, her expression sly.

"I'll be home first. I have to read a few chapters for class before I practice. And probably eat something, too."

"I'll leave you some chili. I'm going to brew some up this afternoon before lyric dance tonight."

Christine gave her a sideways look. "You're still pursuing that club? Don't you dance enough without adding another three hours to it?"

Meg grinned at her cheekily. "Not nearly enough, according to my mother. Even she approves of this. Of course, she doesn't know I'm doing it so I can get close to Gabriel."

Christine met her smile. "Ah, and the truth comes out!" she teased.

Meg scowled. "Don't you judge me, Christine Daae. I'm an ambitious woman, and I'll be damned if Jamie scoops him up before I do!"

"Well, then," Christine said, saluting her. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of Marguerite Giry getting what she wants."

Meg winked. "Damn straight." She leaned forward to kiss Christine on the cheek, then gave her a little wave. "See ya!"

Christine returned the wave. She was about to leave herself when she noticed Loren hanging back.

Loren was the tallest of them all, with brown hair, gray eyes, and soft, full lips. She was the least scrawny of the ballerinas Christine knew, which made it a feat that she remained positioned as prima ballerina at the school. She was the most mature, too, which left much doubt in Christine's mind as to why she gave Jamie and the rest of the girls the time of day.

"Hey, Christine…" Loren said, approaching after Meg had walked out of sight. "Forgive me if this is too personal, but didn't you start seeing Raoul recently?"

Christine felt her cheeks reddening. "Um, well, I don't know if I would call it 'seeing him…'"

Loren smiled. "Don't worry. You don't have to define it. I don't define…whatever it is I have going with Philippe." She blushed a little too, a marvel to Christine. She had always figured Loren for being a confident, worldly girl. Plus, she had been 'seeing Philippe' since she was a freshman.

"Anyways, you should totally double up with us sometime. It would be so fun! Philippe has been talking about going to see a game at Nationals Park." She paused, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Not like I care for sports, but it's still a good excuse to drink beer and eat junk food."

"Oh, um, well…I mean, that would be nice…"

"Great! I'll suggest it to Raoul next time I see him." Loren gave her a big smile. "OK, well, gotta jet. See you around, Christine! Take care!"

Christine watched Loren walk away, her hair swinging behind her. She distantly thought that if Philippe was wise, he would _define_ what he had with Loren before she wised up and found someone who knew what she was worth.

* * *

Erik slowly drew his fingers away from the keyboard, the cords easing away as he slowly lifted his foot from the pedal. The sound was not as full as a piano would be, not by a longshot, but it was the best he could do under the present circumstances. A keyboard was much easier to maneuver into the space he had been occupying for the practices he held with Christine.

She had yet to discover his hiding place, which served him just fine. This little project of his was fleeting, with a very clear expiration date.

All the better. He knew he didn't need the distraction.

And yet...

"Better," he offered, looking up from the instrument. "You've managed to progress in three days. I must tell you, Miss Daae, I didn't think we would accomplish much of anything in less than a week. But I stand corrected."

His surprise came through and showed in his voice. He could hardly help it. He didn't know what had possessed him to offer to tutor her in the first place. Less than a week to prepare for an audition – frankly, it was absurd. Given weeks, _maybe_ , but six days?

He found himself amazed. The girl was dedicated, a quick study, and naturally talented. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imaged they'd make thismuch progress.

"Thank you, sir," she politely returned.

Erik gritted his teeth. Not for the first time, he wished he could actually seeher during these lessons, gauge her true feelings by seeing her face.

But short of creating a two-way mirror in the wall, he was left speculating.

As to being inside the room with her…

Well, that of course was out of the question.

The only times he caught sight of her was when he spotted her around campus as he did his daily patrol, and on the way home from their practice sessions. Ever since that first night, he had taken it upon himself to see her home – silently, of course. She hadn't an inkling as to her night guard, and he preferred to keep it that way.

He hadn't yet examined _why_ he'd chosen to follow her home. He told himself it was some sense of beleaguered decency that he finally seemed to develop after so many years. It would explain why he had helped that little ballet rat the night before. He hadn't much cared for any creature in the past, familiar or unfamiliar, but for some reason, this city was bringing out some latent sense of sentimentality.

It was more than just gauging her expressions, however. He realized, too, that he wanted to look at her just for the sake of looking.

The first time he saw her, singing next to Cara, he hadn't thought much of her. She was self-conscious, alarmingly so. He knew she'd have much to overcome if she wanted to succeed in the arts.

But when he had seen her sing with Reyer, she had transformed. In that moment, she was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The way her face seemed to shutter open when she sang, like opening the curtains to let the sunlight in. Her peach mouth had softened as she formed the lyrics. Her iridescent, pale pink eyelids fluttered over cornflower blue eyes in serene splendor, mindful of nothing else but the music. The apples of her cheeks glowed, loosening off the gray pallor like dead leaves from a growing tree. It was exquisite.

And troubling, that Erik could remember so vividly.

It was for the best that their interactions would soon cease. She'd have her audition, and do well, as he had prepared for, and he'd go back to being the Bureau's errand boy.

"How did those last few measures feel?" he inquired.

"Good," she answered. She paused, then, "Did they sound okay?" He wished she did not sound so unsure of herself.

"You're nearly there," he said gently. "Improved from before, no doubt of that."

She sighed loudly. "Oh. Good." She sounded relieved. Erik felt a responding relief to hers, an emotion that was foreign to him. Why did he care?

He filled in the awkward break. "There are, of course, things to increase the ease of gliding into those upper notes. Habits I'm sure you already know."

"I…yes?"

He chuckled. "I needn't remind you. I have no doubt they've been hammered into you. Plenty of rest, eight hours a night, preferably. You are in school, so I realize that is difficult."

"I usually get between six or seven," she said, a little unsurely.

"At least seven," he instructed, his voice in full teacher-mode. "Fluids too, as you know, are essential. Water. Tea is fine. Coffee only sparingly.

"You must also desist from drinking soft drinks so frequently," he continued. "The amount of refined sugar in one serving is staggering and barely passes as a fluid. It will not hydrate you."

"How do you know I drink a lot of soda?" she demanded, her voice sounding the slightest bit panicked.

Was that a misstep? Had he erred in advising her against drinking soda?

"I observed you with your friends this afternoon and saw it in your hand," he replied automatically.

She was silent. _Drat,_ he thought. He probably shouldn't have mentioned that to her.

"You saw me today?" she asked quietly. Then with more energy, "Well, why didn't you come and say hello?"

He hesitated. The conversation was going in a direction he did not like. "You seemed preoccupied," he said weakly. He cursed inaudibly. He sounded like a damned fool.

"I wasn't! You would have been welcome!"

Her tone was strange. She sounded less defensive, but the panic was still there. Erik fidgeted. He didn't want her to be afraid of him.

 _Imbecile,_ he silently berated. _You'll chase her off before the week is out!_

"Especially since…well, we've never met face to face…"

He frowned. Foolishly, he had hoped that she would have let that go. He knew their arrangement was unorthodox – everything about his life was – but he had hoped that she would continue to be distracted by the prospect of the audition, and let things be.

Obviously, he had been wrong.

He sighed. He was weary from the pretense. But what choice did he have? There was more at risk than just his own humiliation.

For better or for worse, he had a job to do. Despite not caring about the fate of this hypocritical government, his dull sense of pride refused to let him fail.

He couldn't let that be compromised. At least not this early into the job.

He hardened himself, and responded. "We will continue on as we have, Miss Daae. Or would you prefer we did not carry on at all?"

She was quiet for a few minutes, obviously digesting his turn from gentility to hostility.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I know I pry too much. I'll respect your privacy."

He knew she would, for now. After all, she had no means of discovering him.

The better question was whether he would respect hers.

* * *

A/N: Guys, I think I'm finally getting back into it. I've got the next few chapters outlined, so there should be a shorter break between chapters!

Fingers crossed! Please let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

"Doubt comes in  
And strips the paint  
Doubt comes in  
And turns the wine  
Doubt comes in and leaves a trace  
Of vinegar and turpentine…"

Doubt Comes In, Anais Mitchell

Christine exited her Tuesday morning class in good spirits. The semester was off to a good start. Her classes (especially the ones that did not include Cara) were going well, and despite the tension the night before, lessons were going well. She hadn't felt so encouraged about her music in a very long time.

Strangely enough, she found herself looking forward to the upcoming audition. She finally felt as though she would live up to the expectations others had of her, and she was finally willing to prove them correct.

The only reservation she had was that it meant her lessons with her faceless, nameless tutor could come to an end. The thought caused unexpected melancholy, which was surely unfounded. After all, she didn't even know who he was. Moreover, he refused to tell her.

She reasoned her sadness was due to her increasing reliance on him, but more and more, she was having difficulty convincing herself that it was the only reason.

They rarely talked about anything outside of her audition piece, but even so, the hours she spent with her disembodied tutor were the best of her day. She felt outside of herself, devoted entirely to her music and the work they were doing. The practice room seemed to her like another dimension, one in which the worries and fears of the outside world did not exist.

There was something about her tutor, too, that put her at ease, even when he was castigating her. His passion for music was so obvious, so pure, it humbled her.

But so much about their situation bothered her, especially after the conversation with Meg and the others. Her imagination had run rampant, and it hadn't stopped running, not even at her lesson. It had showed in her nervousness, and in his suspicion of her. He had been so defensive, that it only served to agitate doubts already present.

She could not understand. Perhaps it was for the best that their relationship would soon come to a close.

Christine had taken so much for granted for the sake of finally having an audition go well. If she really thought about it, she hardly recognized herself at all. Was she really naïve enough to talk to a stranger through a wall, trusting that he had her best interests at heart? Trusting that he was associated with the school in some way, and was not some dangerous person haunting her evening hours?

Because of course he was a man. A flesh and blood, breathing, real man.

She told herself she didn't believe in the silly rumors circulating the school about the Ghost, but there were coincidences Christine couldn't ignore.

Christine knew Jamie was prone to dramatics and exaggeration. No one would argue that. But so much of Jamie's account of the Ghost rang true with her tutor.

He too threw his voice, just like the 'Ghost' had. Christine had come to the realization that was how her tutor had communicated with her all this time. It explained how he was able to make it sound as though he were standing right in front of her, or behind. She jumped every time, and it still unnerved her.

There was also the matter of what he sounded like. Her tutor was just as Jamie described. That particular comparison would not leave her.

But ghosts did not exist. She had believed in angels once upon a time, to the point where she had questioned whether or not her father had sent this tutor to her from heaven. But Christine was no longer a child, and hardly believed in anything anymore.

Except, perhaps, in this man who was able to make her voice soar.

She couldn't afford to think about it anymore. The audition was a few days away, and she needed to stay focused. Her tutor would abandon her soon enough, she could feel it. Their business would be done in due time, and she wouldn't need to know anything more about him.

Approaching the quad, she saw Meg sitting by herself at a table, a salad laid out in front of her. There was a matching salad across from her.

Christine smiled. The girl was forever thinking of her.

"Meg, you're the best," Christine introduced, sliding into her seat.

Meg looked up, a beatific smile on her face. "I know," she said with aplomb. "How was class? How's that cutie, Eddie Hayden?"

Christine lifted an eyebrow. "Why Meg, I didn't think he was your type! But I can put in a good word. If you'd like," she added, cheekily.

Meg looked at her slyly. "I thinking more for you."

Christine hesitated as she opened the lid to her salad, but tried to smooth over the blip in her composure. "I told you, Meg, he doesn't like me like that anymore. We settled that last year. We're friends now."

"Fine, fine," Meg said airily. "Besides, I know you have Raoul. Still, nice to have a back-up. Just in case."

Christine laughed. "Meg, I hardly have the energy to date one person, let alone think about dating several people. I don't know how you do it."

Meg threw her sable hair over her shoulder. "This is college, babe. It's much easier keeping things light and breezy. Serious relationships at our age are dangerous. Plus, talk about constraining."

"Plus," Christine added, "There's also the fact that if you were to date anyone seriously, Dean Giry would get wind of it."

"Precisely," Meg answered, pointing her fork in Christine's direction.

Christine huffed. "Meg, you deserve more than just a couple of useless flings. I know you're enjoying yourself, but don't sell yourself short. You're worth more than that."

"I know. But for now, speed dating around campus is working for me. It lets me focus on school while letting off a bit of steam." She popped a soggy crouton in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Let's change gears. How's the preparation for your audition going?"

"I…good," Christine answered unevenly.

Meg lifted an eyebrow. "Just good? Do you think you'll be ready in time?"

"Yes, actually. I think I will."

Meg smiled. "Glad to hear it. All those long hours in the practice rooms at night must be paying off. Do you ever see anyone else there? Must be a ghost town, especially this early in the semester."

Christine choked. Meg's eyes widened.

"I just meant mid-terms aren't for another few weeks." Meg frowned. "What's wrong, Christine?"

Christine cleared her throat, sipping on a bit of water to stall for time. She hated that she was keeping secrets from her best friend. She knew she couldn't tell Meg about her tutor. She would believe one of two things about him. Either than he was a stalker, spying on her at night and preying upon her innocence, or…

That he was the Ghost everyone was talking about.

She didn't know which one was worse.

"Yes. I'm fine," she answered.

Meg looked skeptical, but dropped it. "Good. Now, let me tell you what Andrea said to Loren earlier…"

* * *

The act of keeping a secret from Meg ate at Christine for the rest of the day. Not even her lesson with her tutor (one that was stunted and overly polite on his part) could distract her. She had practically sprinted out of the music building afterward with the overpowering desire to just talk to someone.

There was only one person she could do that with, and strangely enough, that person was Raoul. A boy (man?) she had only just reconnected with after years of estrangement.

Her lack of close friends only fueled her desire to talk to him more. A feeling, deep in her gut, told her she could trust Raoul. So she held nothing back.

"Raoul…" she said hesitantly, cradling her cell phone in both hands against her ear. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

There was a notable, awkward pause on the other end of the line.

"Well," he said, his tone evasive.

Christine knew Raoul well enough to know that meant yes. "Wait, seriously?"

"Shh," he said, and she could imagine his ears turning red as beets. "Be gentle with me, I had a tough day at school."

She laughed a little for his sake, even if it sounded hollow to her ears. "I'm sorry. But I am curious."

"You have to swear you won't tease me for it."

"I won't, I swear," she promised.

He sighed. "Okay, so, it's like this. My family's estate in New York is old. Really old. My great-grandfather bought it back in the 1910s. We'd always vacation there during Christmas and…I don't know." She could see him shrug in her mind's eye. "The house was creepy. I heard things at night. When we were kids, Philippe told me that it was the ghost of our great-grandma Judie." Christine shivered. "I hated that house. I try to avoid it now at all costs."

Christine walked a little slower, thinking that over. As children, they had both delighted in her father's tales of sea monsters and mountain trolls, but as an adult, she had left much of that imagining behind. Raoul's lingering superstitions seemed like a luxury he could afford, a token of childhood he had pilfered. Christine hadn't been so lucky.

Just one more thing to make Christine pitiable. Perhaps she was odd for not believing in ghosts.

As if sensing something was off, he lowered his voice to a gentle hum. "Why do you ask, Christine?"

She bit her tongue. "Before I tell you, you're going to have to swear you won't tease me."

"You know that's a promise I can't keep."

Christine laughed again, a little more genuinely this time.

"Well," she began, "Do you remember that weird encounter I had in the practice room?"

She summed up the transition into her lessons, the rumors and how they related to her suspicions about her tutor.

Raoul's voice sobered significantly. "Christine, I told you that you can't let your guard down at Cartier. This sounds serious. You may have a stalker."

Christine shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Raoul couldn't see her. "It's not like that, Raoul."

"You don't know that," Raoul protested.

Christine lowered her voice. "Raoul, trust me. He won't so much as tell me his name. We never talk about anything outside of music. Whoever he is, he's harmless. I can feel it."

"Christine," Raoul replied patiently, "I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me about this, but now that you have, I'm really worried about your safety. You need to tell someone."

"Really, Raoul-,"

"Christine," Raoul cut in, his voice desperate. "I mean it. Or…."

She frowned. "Or?"

"Or I'll have to call the police on your behalf."

Christine stopped walking, offended. "I never asked you to do that." Her voice was hard. She couldn't explain why, but she felt betrayed.

"I just want you safe," he pressed, his tone entreating. "I won't push you on this because I know you're stubborn enough to ignore me, even if it's against what's best for you."

She said nothing, strongly considering hanging up.

"But," he continued, sensing her displeasure, "If you won't call the cops, at least tell a teacher. Someone you trust. That way someone has all the information if something does go wrong."

Christine considered this. She didn't feel like she was in danger, as Raoul was suggesting, but it wasn't bad advice. She had no family, aside from Mrs. Valerius, and few friends. If something did happen to her, for whatever reason, she wouldn't want to regret not taking a friend's advice.

"I'll think about it," she replied evenly.

He was quiet for a moment, and sighed. "Please, just…promise me."

She could tell this meant a lot to him, and despite her irritation, was touched. She let go of some of that irritation. "I promise, Raoul."

"Thank you."

She looked up to see that the conversation had brought her back to her dorm. "Okay, well, I'm home now, so I'm gonna go. Thanks for the talk, Raoul."

"Just to be clear, you're still going to go on a date with me, right?

That short-circuited her brain. She wasn't prepared for that.

"Umm," she stalled, trying to let her thoughts catch up. "Well, you'd have to ask me out on one, first."

"I just did," he responded, his tone sly.

She couldn't help it. She laughed out loud.

"So you did!" She felt her cheeks warm a little. "Um…sure." Her heart skipped.

"Great!" he answered, boyish enthusiasm masking any attempt at playing it cool. "This weekend?"

She hummed her agreement, her mind spinning.

"Talk to you later, then, Christine. Sleep well."

She'd try, but it didn't seem likely.

* * *

Erik was having a bad day.

After years of carefully avoiding the inevitable, he felt as though he were finally going mad.

Insanity was, of course, what happened when you returned to the same idea, attacked it in the same fashion, and waited for a different ending. By that definition, he knew that he was insane.

Namely, going back to Christine and hoping that she would accept his presence without physically seeing him.

It was what they all wanted in the end - to see him! Couldn't anyone leave well enough and give him peace?

Beneath the fury at her was a deeper anger at himself. He knew that this idea was preposterous from the start, and yet he had stubbornly let it go on.

It was perfectly understandable that she had concerns. And he was not obtuse enough to miss the trepidation in the girl's voice. He recognized it well enough. It rang of wariness.

If she was agonized at all about the growing chasm between them, she didn't know the half of it. Each lesson was a fresh torment. The need to be in the room with her, to experience the change to her voice as he instructed her, was staggering. He had never felt anything so consuming as the infatuation he had with Christine's voice.

Her voice, he assured himself steadily. That was all. Not her.

Luckily, he did have something to distract him, even if he wasn't nearly as interested in it as he was in Christine's progress.

Looking down at the screen of his phone, one would assume Erik had many friends. All hours of the day, it lit up like a Christmas tree.

Sadly enough, it was only because one person insisted on texting him, and that person's attentions were bordering on smothering.

 _Giry asked 2 meet with u. Could always give her your # and avoid middle man._

 _Srsly, Erik. 3 o'clock, Giry's office. Don't 4get._

 _U haven't answered me in 12 hrs. Erik pls don't mess this up. Baker on my back._

Nadir was acting like a mother hen, and Erik, his errant chick. But Nadir had always fashioned himself to be Erik's nanny.

He had half a mind to flee the city altogether and find some dark hole to waste away in.

 _If not for Christine._

He had worked himself into a rotten temper by the time he reached Giry's office. He gave her door two sharp knocks before striding in, regardless of an invitation.

"By all means, come in, Monsieur," Giry said calmly, her eyebrows heading for her hairline. She was seated behind her desk, her glasses perched low on her nose. Her accent was crisply articulate, and so dry it could have drained the Baltic Sea.

"I do not know why you persist with François. I am not French," Erik said rudely, standing in front of her with his arms crossed. The stark fabric of his long trench coat almost squeaked with the movement.

"Oh you most certainly are," she said, straightening a stack of papers before her. "I can spot another Frenchman from miles away. But I doubt you came in here to dispute nationalities." Giry lowered the papers to the desk and stared at him expectantly, a crafted eyebrow remaining firmly raised.

Erik looked at her stonily. "I was told you had something for me."

"Ah, yes, that," Giry said at length. She gestured to the seats in front of her. "Would you care to sit?"

He said nothing, his masked expression exhibiting complete opposition.

She sighed. "Very well." She picked up a manila folder and handed it to him.

"What is this?" he asked, taking it from her and flipping through its' contents.

"Logs of every donation made to this institution in the last six months," Giry answered, picking up a teacup from her desk and sipping it delicately. Her lips left a dark beige stain on the rim. "Both public and private. As you can probably guess, the majority of the donations were made by private donors. All aliases, of course, to kept their identities a secret." She pointed to the folder. "Beneath that is a list matching probable aliases. I've been able to confirm a few, myself."

Erik lifted his gaze from the folder, the light in his eyes dimming from guarded to something more neutral. Something like respect.

"Might I ask how you came by these records, Madame?"

A small crack in Giry's stony expression. "I happen to be friendly with a woman who works for the financial department. She's worked here for some years, you see, and is a terrible gossip. And she happened to owe me a favor."

Erik nodded solemnly. "Very well. I'll have Nadir look through them. He's far better suited for research than field work." He was lying, but only about the first part. Nadir was better suited for research, but Erik would also look over the files personally. He was nothing if not a perfectionist.

Eyes narrowing, Erik assessed Giry. She was far more discerning than she looked, which meant that she probably guessed Erik was not a people-person and would avoid meetings at all costs.

"You called me in specifically for this." His words were clipped, pointed.

Giry opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and opened it again.

Erik's eyes narrowed further. "Yes?" he said thinly.

"I admit to being curious," Giry said. Erik felt a prickle of discomfort. Here was a woman who exuded pride, and she was admitting something personal to him. He was surely having some ill effect on the woman. A predictable occurrence. He was a plague upon humanity, and women in particular suffered the consequences. "I looked you up."

This was not going in a direction Erik liked. "I see," he said, his mood darkening.

Giry looked wary, but continued on, resilient. "There's no trace of you online. No employment, school or financial records. It's as if you were-"

"A ghost?" Erik said, a dark grimace twisting what little bit of his face Giry could see.

She studied him, her eyes narrowing slowly. "Actually...yes."

He was not obtuse. He had heard the idle rumors of the school's supposed 'Ghost', and how the conversation had lately shifted to his personal exploits. He had no problem with being invisible, but he did not want the infamy. If word got out, and that dimwit Baker found out…

Or if Christine started to pay attention...

He had to give Giry credit. Here she was, practically placing herself on a spit for Erik to roast, and yet she still dared look him straight in the eye. No, he would not flambé this woman. She had more courage than many of her ilk. He was even, against his will, starting to like her.

"I will overlook this misstep in judgment, Madame, if you will agree to cease your investigations. I can assure you, you will find nothing. Any further insight into my character will only result in unpleasantness."

Giry looked as if she wanted to say something else, but before she could, the door to her office slammed open. A flurry of frizzy hair was framed by the wooden doorway.

Giry stood up swiftly. "I beg your pardon, but you cannot barge in here-!"

Before she could finish, she paused, slightly shocked. The two occupants stared at the intruder. The girl in the doorway stared back, but only at Erik. Her eyes were wide, the whites overtaking the blue, her face turning ashen.

"You found the ghost," Christine said quietly.

* * *

A/N: So I said I was going to get better at updating...guys, I'm working on it. I realize I'm the worst. I'm hoping that now that Erik and Christine have actually met in person, things will get a little easier henceforth.

Also, YOU GUYS. I called Erik a 'chick'! -snorts-

What do you all think of Raoul? Too soon to be so overprotective? Or just right? Is Giry sassy enough for you? I feel like the Giry sass (in both the younger and the elder) can never be overstated.

Thanks for reading! Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

"So, our rotting floor  
I am sure you craved me once before;  
When I think of all the fruit I've found,  
And how easily you left it on the ground."

-Blood Moon, Saint Sister

* * *

 _Before she could finish, she paused, slightly shocked. The two occupants stared at the intruder. The girl in the doorway stared back, but only at Erik. Her eyes went wide, the whites overtaking the blue, and her face turned ashen._

" _You found the ghost," Christine said quietly._

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, and yet wasn't nearly long enough to allow her brain to catch up with what was happening.

 _Her tutor - the Ghost -_

Minutely, all her mind could register was _tall_ and _black._ She was certain that if he turned sideways he would have disappeared altogether, but at present, he was so very _there._

Even his face was covered in black.

"Christine," Giry suddenly said, her voice just shy of frantic. She shot a wary glance in the mans direction. "You really shouldn't barge into a private office in this way."

"I was just leaving," the man murmured quickly, as equally quiet as her exclamation a few seconds' earlier. He gave Giry a furtive look before he made to sweep past, his movements as fluid as spilled ink.

Unthinkingly, Christine placed a hand on his arm, grabbing a fistful of his crisp coat in the process. He turned his attention to her completely, the full power of his eyes on her. They were gold, and narrowed, like a cat's. She dropped her hold, suddenly petrified, and took a step away from him. His eyes softened, an emotion passing quickly, and then he was gone.

Christine's heart beat a painful rhythm against her breastbone. The commanding voice she had come to know had been equally commanding in person. But whereas she found the Voice to be impressive and awesome, she found the person to be terrifying. She directed her frayed attention to Giry.

The older woman looked equal parts sympathetic and concerned. "You should not have come barging in like that, Christine," Giry repeated, as if regretting Christine's actions for her.

"Who was that?" Christine asked, her voice loud in the tiny room.

Giry sighed, then resumed her seat. "I couldn't explain even if I wanted to, so let us say that it's complicated. And not your business." Her hawk-like gaze sharpened to a point before softening in parental familiarity. "What did you come in here so hastily to tell me?"

But Christine's mind was elsewhere. Frightening or not, she needed to trail after him. She needed answers. "It's not important," she said on her way out the door.

"Christine!" Giry called out behind her.

She walked quickly down the hallway, feeling more like a greyhound than a girl, but didn't stop, not even when the bottoms of her feet began to pinch. The initial shock was peeling away from her brain, and she was left with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

The floor was shaped like an 'L', so there was little way to lose him. She doubted he had darted into one of the other offices, so he must have fled outside.

Only as soon as she stepped outside, she knew that she had well and truly lost him. She resisted the desire to stomp her foot.

In the midst of her brewing, she felt the sudden weight of a heavy hand upon her shoulder, and started. She turned, half-expecting to finally confront that masked man. Instead, she confronted a reproachful Madame Giry.

"Christine, you will come back inside and explain yourself. Now."

Christine nodded, silently acquiescent.

They walked in silence back to Giry's office. The older woman shut the door behind them, locked it, and gestured for Christine to sit. Giry took her own seat behind the desk.

"Begin," Giry said simply.

After Christine gave her side of the story, Giry was silent a moment. Then, "Does Meg know?"

Christine shook her head.

Giry clucked her tongue. "I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or not. That you had been doing this without anyone being the wiser…" Giry frowned. "Christine, it was very foolish. Unlike you."

"I did tell someone," Christine postured, feeling the need to defend herself.

"Oh?" Madame Giry lifted an eyebrow. "Who?"

"My friend. His name is Raoul de Chagny."

Giry's eyes widened. "The senator's brother?"

Christine grimaced, sheepish.

The older woman looked at her sternly. "Christine, I've told you time and again to be wary of these Washington men-"

Christine sat up straighter in her chair. "It's not like that, Madame, I promise. He's still in school. He's just worried about me. He's not like...that," Christine finished lamely, her neck growing hot.

Giry sniffed. "Fine," she complied, "But we're still talking about the fact that you've allowed a strange man to corner you. What do you know about this man, Christine?"

Christine was dimly aware of the fact that Giry was turning this around on her, but was too intimidated by the exacting Dean to do much about it. "Nothing, Madame. Only that he is very knowledgeable about music and voice. But he knows very little about me, too!"

Giry muttered to herself, loud enough for Christine to hear, "I very much doubt that."

Christine's frown deepened, and felt herself grow bold. "Why was he in your office when I walked in?"

Giry lifted her gaze from her desk and trained it on Christine. "That is my business, Christine. Now run along. I do not want you contacting that man again, do you understand?"

Unsure about how she felt at the moment, she decided to go along with the older woman's demand. For now. "Yes, Madame."

* * *

Madame Giry had been pacing nonstop since Christine left her office an hour ago. She had summoned Nadir Khan right away, resolved upon finding out everything she could about Erik, and why he should have an interest in Christine.

Nadir, for his part, looked baffled, and just a tad bit uncomfortable being in a room with a woman who was roving about and saying nothing at all. He had a difficult time tracking her, and had instead decided to look to the ceiling, as if for Divine Guidance.

She suddenly stopped pacing and turned to look at him. "Well, you'll want to know why you're here, then."

"It would be nice, yes," Khan replied, the slightest bit of sarcasm in his tone.

Giry pursed her lips.

 _Well,_ she thought, _No use beating around the bush._

She cleared her throat. "How does Erik know Christine Daae?"

Nadir furrowed his brow. "Pardon?"

"You heard me." She crossed her arms. "They encountered each other, just now, in my office. He stormed off, and she trailed after him. They both were completely caught off guard." She crossed her arms. "Something is going on. You will tell me."

Nadir seemed to tense up, but his voice remained calm. "Madame, I can promise you that I know nothing about this. I did not think Erik had any contact with anyone at Cartier."

Silence fill the room. Giry continued to stare daggers into Nadir, while he looked back to the ceiling, his two individual eyebrows attempting to fuse together.

Nadir shook his head absently. "This doesn't make sense." He observed her. "You think that they are familiar with one another?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Christine confirmed it. She admitted that he has been giving her singing lessons secretly for a week."

"How do you mean, 'secretly'?"

Giry rolled her eyes. "Christine said that she had heard a man's voice speaking to her inside one of the practice rooms. They became acquainted, so far as two people can become acquainted without being in the same room, and he instructed her. Apparently this has been a ditch effort on her part to prepare for an audition." Giry shook her head, amazed with Christine's naivety. It was with a spectacular lack of common sense that the girl had engaged in such an activity! Her poor, trusting heart would get her into deep trouble one day.

Of course, Madame Giry refused to let that happen. The girl was not her flesh and blood, but that hardly mattered.

Feeling vindictive, and frustrated, she added, "Does your friend make it a habit of leering at college girls without their knowledge?"

Nadir lifted one eyebrow, the gesture adding a note of sophistication to his looks. "Madame, even if I felt the urge to answer you honesty in the face of such an absurd question…" He trailed off, looking a bit lost. "I could hardly say."

They looked at one another, each at a loss. Nadir broke his gaze off and stared at the floor, as if trying to understand.

"How did he seem, when he left? Angry?"

She pouted, thinking. "Not angry. Very surprised, certainly." She blinked. "Maybe even...embarrassed?"

Nadir shook his head. "That is very unlike him. He does not...attach. Not ever."

Giry's eyes suddenly became glassy with fear. She fell into her chair behind the desk, and steepled her hands, placing her chin upon them. "What does this mean? What does he want from Christine?"

Nadir looked alarmed. "Madame, please. This could be nothing."

Giry was not so sure, but perhaps he was right. It would be unwise to jump to conclusions without knowing more. After all, they had only been in contact for a week. How much of an attachment could a man form on a young girl in that time, especially without being in the same physical space as her? Men needed so much more of that, and knowing Christine, Giry was certain the girl hadn't done anything to entice him inappropriately.

Another thought occurred to her. "You've been patrolling the campus, as well as him, yes? You must have heard the latest student gossip."

Nadir sighed. "Yes," he said, as if conceding something, "I too have heard rumors of this Ghost of yours."

"Rumors that your friend seems to have stirred up." She narrowed her eyes.

He crossed his arms defensively. "If people are gossiping about Erik's nightly habits, that is hardly his fault. He is doing his job, Madame. Patrolling the campus is a part of that."

Giry nodded. "I understand that much." She leaned back into her chair, sighing again. "It does not help that the students gossip incessantly. This talk of the Ghost might have been inevitable."

Giry watched Nadir straighten a little.

"This girl, this...Christine Daae." Nadir paused, his brown eyes wide. "Who is she?"

* * *

The hallway was deserted. The sun had set hours ago, and her last class had ended long before that.

She had been sitting in the music building for what felt like an eternity. Every door was firmly shut, and not one soul had passed through the doors in nearly an hour.

It was the second night in a row that Christine had come to the practice room, waiting for any indication that her tutor wasn't gone for good. And for the second night in a row, she had planted herself outside the door to their practice room, sat on the floor, and hugged her backpack to her chest to ward off the feelings of dread.

Yet whether the dread was in the case he did or did not come, she couldn't say.

 _Why is this starting to feel like one giant mistake?_ she thought miserably.

She knew waiting around for him was an exercise in futility, but she had to try. The incident of their surprise encounter had left Christine's stomach in knots. She hated that their first meeting had been so abrupt, and that he had immediately fled.

 _Why had he run off?_ She knew the answer, of course; it was rather obvious. He had hid his identity from her for the better part of a week because he wasn't interested in being known. She was a pet project, a passing fancy, surely. Remaining anonymous made it easier to disappear once he was bored with her and realized just how potential-less she was.

She deflated. Thinking this way surely classified as wallowing, and she was fully ready to enter into that endeavor.

If not for her audition.

She looked down at her phone and sighed again. _Only twelve hours away, now._

Logically, she knew he had probably done all he could in a week to prepare her. Rather than be sad, she should feel grateful she had received some help rather than none. She would make the most of it.

But what if she had done something wrong, something to anger him? Could that be the reason he hadn't come back?

He had seemed invested in her when they began, almost to the point of insistence.

Perhaps Madame Giry had said something to ward him off.

The dean had been less than forthcoming about him when Christine asked, and had outright demanded Christine stopped interacting with him. She hadn't the slightest clue how they could possibly know each other, but _that_ they knew each other gave her some measure of reassurance. But why forbid Christine from seeing him? She had always known somewhere deep down that he wasn't someone to fear.

Despite their strange situation.

Despite the similarities to the school's ghost.

She wasn't altogether positive that _he_ and the Ghost weren't one in the same. He had moved _so_ quickly, his movements having all the grace of a wraith. She would have thought him some spectral thing had she not grabbed a hold of him before he ran off.

And that look in his eyes when she had…

Almost as though _he_ were afraid of _her._

 _Maybe it had something to do with…_

She stopped that train of thought, not wishing to assume anything. He was obviously a private man. That much was apparent.

If only she could have some closure, some indication that this was truly the end of their working relationship.

But she knew better than to expect anything. People left, and sometimes you didn't get to say goodbye. That was just a part of life. A part of moving on.

She got up off the ground and patted down the wrinkles in her pants. She needed a good night's rest for the following morning. She would put thoughts of _him_ , and their strange relationship, behind her.

She was determined to make him proud. To pay back him back. Even if she was to never see him again.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, all! This one was a bit of a filler but there's more action to come! And more interactions between Christine and Erik. Stay tuned!


	9. Chapter 9

Hey all! I wanted to start off by saying I'm really sorry this is late. Hopefully the fact that it's longer makes up for it! I can insert a lot of excuses here, but let's just get to the chapter, right?! Onward!

* * *

The last two days had found Erik buried deep inside the case. Between the incident in Giry's office and Nadir's attempts to permanently relocate somewhere unmentionable upon Erik's person, he found himself sufficiently motivated.

Using Giry's records, Erik was able to pinpoint a number of money trails that followed a pattern and made certain parties look very suspicious. He had started to suspect some days ago that some school administrators might be taking bribes in exchange for inside knowledge. Such knowledge might include floor plans, security plans, or anything that someone might want to know if they were interested in attacking the school when the right amount of people were present.

Such as at the opening night of the opera that Christine was about to audition for.

He ground his teeth. The fact that this threat could affect Christine did not sit well with him. He knew that between himself and Nadir they would neutralize the threat, but even the smallest possibility of Christine being in danger was unacceptable.

The thought stopped him short. Why did he care?

He wasn't quite sure what was happening to him. He couldn't help _but_ care. And what was more was that he couldn't stay away.

He knew she was desperate for his teaching. _That_ much was evident by her vigil outside the practice room for the past two nights. What was less comprehensible was why he was chasing her _back._

Despite what Christine thought, he had seen _and_ heard her those two nights. He knew she was waiting for him to return, but after what had transpired, it was no longer possible for him to do so. Now that he had been found out, he couldn't allow the ruse to continue.

Alas, Christine - the charming, tenacious creature that she was - didn't seem to want to let sleeping dogs lie.

Lessons or no, staying away from him was in her own interest. She didn't need to know any more about her mysterious tutor.

He'd keep an eye on her, however. Out of professional interest. The least he could do was see this thing through and make sure that all of their hard work paid off.

It was with this rationalization that Erik decided to attend the auditions.

The auditions were being held at the main stage at Cartier, a building called Diamond Hall. Aptly named, it was a suitably impressive theater. The building had both orchestra and mezzanine seating, as well as two boxes on each side of the stage for wealthier patrons. Erik had already looked up the names of those who regularly rented them. Fittingly, they were usually taken by the very people they were named after.

The hall was brightly lit. Sconces of white light were perched intermittently throughout the theater. Long, even glass windows along the second floor walls invited the world into the theater, but blocked them out if necessity deemed it so. The theater was decorated in royal blues and golds, with a sky blue dome at the centermost part of the ceiling. The navy blue curtains with gold tassels had been swept aside to accommodate the auditions, and the orchestra pit's metallic grate sealed shut.

But Erik's favorite feature of the entire auditorium by far were the catwalks that allowed him to watch the proceedings from above without anyone being the wiser.

He had done enough reconnaissance at Cartier to know the campus inside, out. While Diamond Hall was one of the least busy parts of campus, it would not remain so for long. In the coming months, a generous portion of the student body would be housed in this very building for hours at a time, and so Erik had taken it upon himself to learn it well.

He had arrived an hour early hoping to avoid the arrival of the production team. Thus far, he had done an excellent job of remaining unseen at Cartier with the exception of a few ballet rats here and there.

And, of course, Christine.

Before long, people appeared and settled in their seats. The panel totaled five individuals, three men and two women, all graying. Erik recognized them all on sight. Four out of five were vocal professors of the college, and the fifth was the dean of the music department. He had done his research into each of them, and while none of them were on his immediate list of conspirators, he felt inclined to keep an eye on them.

He watched with lazy disinterest at the auditioners came in one by one. The baritones and basses were in good supply, thankfully, but the school seemed to have limited options on tenors. After the men, the panel took a small break to discuss and stretch. Erik looked on balefully, wishing he could give them his recommendations so that they could move on and cease wasting his time.

The women were up next. Unlike the men, they entered the theater in small groups, outnumbering the men almost five to one. Such was the way of the world of theater. He hoped Christine was not cowed by it.

When he spotted her he straightened, his pulse picking up. He was able to note with approval, and appreciation, the care she had taken to prepare. Her naturally unruly blonde curls were smoothed back into a simple low ponytail that bunched at her neck and spiraled between her shoulder blades. She wore a sky blue sleeveless blouse tucked into straight leg black slacks that hit just above her ankle, ending in simple black flats. She looked clean and polished, and impeccably professional. Erik's chest swelled.

His eyes darted away to assess the other girls, and when he landed on one in particular, he scowled.

The _harpy_ was there as well.

 _No matter_ , he thought. _So long as she did not bother his Christine._

He paused. _His Christine?_ Since when had he begun to label her as 'his'? She did not belong to him. For all he knew, she could belong to another.

The thought filled him with far more irritation than was he comfortable with.

The music director gestured to the accompanist to retake their position at the piano, and the panel called out the first girl's name. She was a sturdy thing, with short black hair and masculine features. A dramatic soprano. Erik thought she would suit well enough, especially for someone of her age. The panel seemed to agree, judging by their furtive whispering and subtle nods.

Another two sang. Competitors of Christine's, they fortunately did not match her talent. As he knew that these were likely older students, he felt a brief moment of pity, and then like the panel, moved on.

Cara Bergamasco took to the stage next, looking for all the world as if she owned it. He watched as she threw a simpering, arrogant look towards Christine, and Erik felt his blood boil. It took all his self control not to drop a sandbag on her…

She did not do abysmally, and that furthered Erik's rancor. She did, however, add far too many frills for his liking, and dwelled too long on notes she would otherwise not, if only to impress the teachers. He thought she did it to hide the one or two notes she had botched.

It was finally Christine's turn. She meekly walked up and onto the stage, handed her sheet music to the accompanist, and introduced herself. Her confidence appeared low, but that was hardly unusual for the poor thing. If Erik had had more time with her, he would have snuffed that trait out of her completely. He clenched his fist. He did not want these idiots thinking she was terrible right off the bat.

She then did something strange. Before looking at the accompanist, she took a look around the auditorium, her eyes searching.

Was she...looking for _him?_

The thought was mad, and he immediately dismissed it. There was no way. And yet, a small spark of hope ran through him, thrilling every nerve ending. Perhaps not all was lost…

At last, she nodded to the accompanist and began. Despite appearances being to the contrary, her voice came out smooth and precise. The notes flew and fell with grandeur, soaring above the audience and seeming to pierce straight through Erik's heart. He watched her, enraptured, elated to be seeing her perform without the barrier of a wall separating them.

She started off strong, continued strongly, and ended crisply and beautifully. The smattering of applause she received did not do her justice, but he reminded himself that the panel had to remain impartial. He was satisfied to see, however, that they were all marking things in their notebooks, their pens scratching away furiously. It was an added bonus to see Cara tapping her foot nervously against the back of the seat in front of her, her expression a mask of fury.

Christine thanked the panel quietly, and descended from the stage, returning to her seat in the audience to watch the rest of the girls sing.

The auditions ended soon thereafter. From his position, he could see a tiny smile gracing the corner of Christine's mouth, and a gentle blush staining across the bridge of her nose. He looked on, infatuated, wishing with all his might that he could take her hand in his and see that smile directed towards him.

"Thank you all for coming out this morning. We will be in contact soon about casting decisions. We do not anticipate having callbacks at this time, but that may change at a later date. Please check your emails periodically, as we will be informing people primarily through that channel. Thank you again, and enjoy the rest of your weekend."

The auditioners began to filter out. To Erik's surprise, Christine did not move a muscle. She was staring at the stage, seemingly lost in thought. How he longed to approach her, to ask her what thoughts plagued her mind, but he knew he could not. No, Christine would remain out of reach, far too good and pure to be sullied by his influence. He was too undeserving of such goodness, he could not possibly entertain the notion of approaching her again…

After twenty minutes of gazing longingly at her and deliberating, he finally made his decision. It was time to move on for the both of them.

 _Well,_ Nadir thought, _I should have known I'd find Erik here._

The government agent looked up at the building, contemplating its fine facade.

It was tucked away from the rest of campus, situated back from the road and surrounded by parking lots to accommodate the guests that would enter its halls. It was cuttingly modern, yet sleek enough to convey beauty. During the day it was subdued, reflecting only natural lighting and concealing the inner workings of the building, but by night, Nadir knew, the building shone bright white. The front of the building was an amalgam of glass boxes, designed, it seemed, with the New York Met in mind. The boxes were stacked upon one another in a symmetrical fashion, building upon each other with every story. The building curved in on both sides, inviting attendees in with genteel modesty, while the diamond-shaped overhanging protected all who entered. A fountain was placed in the center of the courtyard, the tri-layer confection spitting water onto the black spackled pavement.

It was, in a word, remarkable.

It was fitting, of course, that Erik would be here. He had always been drawn to beautiful things. And this theater was certainly the crowning jewel of Cartier.

Never one for mincing words, Giry had been straightforward in her text that morning. She had all but demanded Nadir make his way to Diamond Hall if he wanted to intercept Erik.

If he had ever been under the impression that Giry was taking orders from him, it certainly seemed that the record had been set straight.

To Nadir's surprise, however, he needn't have worried about finding Erik, as Erik seemed intent to find him first. As soon as he entered the building, the masked man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him around the corner. It was darkened, the motion-sensored lights failing to kick in, and occupied by cleaning equipment. Nadir could hear his compatriot breathing heavily, his golden eyes trained on the hallway.

Nadir straightened his collar, indignant over the manhandling. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but shut it quickly when he heard a female voice ring out in the hall.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

A young blonde girl was walking down the hall, her footsteps as hurried as Erik's were. She was looking all about her, frantic and searching.

Nadir opened his mouth again, but Erik slapped a gloved hand over it, hissing dangerously in his ear,

" _ **Shut up, you great booby!**_ _"_

Nadir glared at Erik resentfully, but obeyed, turning his eyes back to the girl.

Only a small grunt had left Nadir, enough to make the girl pause. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening for more. After another few seconds, she walked out the door.

When Nadir turned back to Erik, he witnessed him staring after the blonde girl with something he had never seen in Erik's eyes before. It was that elusive _something_ in that unnatural gaze that filled Nadir with disquiet.

"Erik….you cannot be serious."

Erik stiffened. "You will not speak of things you do not understand, Daroga," the masked man bit out.

Nadir turned his eyes back to the girl's retreating form. He knew he wasn't imagining things. Erik did a decent job of concealing his true feelings, but Nadir knew him better than anybody else. And the man was undeniably enamored of this girl.

"She's a distraction, Erik," he said quietly.

"Don't you think I know that?" Erik hissed, then cursed, realizing he had as much as admitted that Nadir was correct. The Iranian tried not to smirk. "It is nothing," continued Erik, as if he hadn't admitted his folly aloud. "We're here for business."

"So long as you know that," Nadir stated.

The space between them grew frigid, as did Nadir with the knowledge that he had spoken rather foolishly. "Listen well, my meddling friend," Erik said in cool tones, "That will be the last time you presume to lecture me. Are we understood?"

Pursing his lips, Nadir stared back at the shadow man, almost entirely sure that it would _not_ be the last time he lectured him for something. "As you say, _dooste-e-man*_."

"Good." And before he could blink, the Phantom was gone.

Christine was feeling _much_ better.

The audition was out of the way, and what's more, she had done well. The nerves she had expected to ruin her chances hadn't impeded her the way she thought they might. Instead, they had bolstered her. That adrenaline had transitioned, changing from destructive to empowering.

The feeling had lasted the better part of the day. And so when Meg half-heartedly asked if Christine wanted to go to some party that night, the latter had accepted.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Meg asked, incredulous.

Christine laughed. "What? You said yourself I should celebrate!"

"Yeah," Meg answered, "But every time I ask you to come with me to one of these parties, you always turn me down. What's changed?"

Christine smiled, her mood too good to feel affronted. "I've just been thinking that a change is coming. So why not go with it?"

"Why not indeed," Meg said, narrowing her eyes at her friend. "Okay!" she relented, clapping her hands together. "Then we've got some work to do."

Christine was compliant for Meg's "makeover", but it only went so far. In the end, she was only successful in getting Christine to agree to putting on bronzer, and borrowing Meg's top. Christine was wildly uncomfortable, but under Meg's assurances that she looked great, she couldn't find it in her heart to take it off.

"I don't want to go too far from campus, Meg," Christine warned as she pulled her shoes on.

"We won't," Meg promised. "A friend of a friend is having a party in their dorm. It should be fairly harmless."

Nodding to herself, Christine placed a crooked smile on her made-up face and followed her friend.

Like Meg promised, the party wasn't too much for her to handle. There was plenty of alcohol, and plenty of pressure to drink it, but nothing more than that. She could feel some of the male students give Christine a few lingering looks every once in a while, which she curiously returned in her beer-addled state. Every so often, Meg would jab her in the ribs with her elbow and give her an encouraging look. To her credit, she didn't push any more than that, and neither did she leave Christine's side.

"How do you feel?" Meg shouted over the dull pounding coming from a nearby speaker.

"OK," Christine returned honestly. They had been at the party for nearly two hours. She was on the drunker side of buzzed, but she didn't feel sick. She felt a little like dancing, but had no idea how to go about it.

Meg threw an arm over Christine's shoulders and gave her a dry peck on the cheek. "You're doing great, hun. Are you glad you came?"

Christine beamed at her. "Sure am!" She sloshed a little of her drink on a nearby table, which Meg noted with a critical eye.

"Alright, champ," Meg said, grabbing for the cup and placing it down. "Let's switch to water for now, OK?"

Christine frowned, but nodded, following Meg as she led her to a small fridge.

"Here," Meg said, twisting off the cap of the water bottle and handing it to Christine. Christine took a grateful sip and let her eyes slide closed in bliss.

A blonde young man slid up to them, gesturing to the water bottle in Christine's hand. "Not quitting on the partying just yet, are you?" He grimaced, as if in pain.

Meg let out a short bark of laughter. "Connor. Hey. No, just taking a much needed break for hydration." Meg paused. "Chris, this is Connor. Connor, this is Christine, my roommate."

"Pleasure," he said, holding out his hand to her. To his credit, he seemed to mean it.

Christine gave him a tentative smile and clasped his hand. It was a little clammy, but she tried not to let that color her impression of him. "Same."

Meg looked around. "A solid rager, Connor. Your roommates here too?"

Connor nodded, taking a sip from his own cup. "Sure are. Dex and Brad are around here somewhere. Peter is pissed because someone's misplaced his oboe. Dude forgot that he hid it under his bed before the party even started so people wouldn't touch it. We keep telling him this but he won't believe us."

"Why doesn't he just check under the bed himself?" Christine asked.

Connor smiled toothily. "Too drunk. Everytime he tries to, he says he's going to puke. It's been fun watching him make a fool out of himself."

Despite herself, Christine smiled a little. Connor seemed to note this, and move in a little closer.

"So, what're you going to school for, Christine?"

"Voice," Meg answered for her. Christine sent a blurry glare towards her friend, who only shrugged in apology.

"Sorry, sorry," Meg said, smiling around the rim of her cup.

Christine turned back to Connor. "What she said. What about you?"

"Interpretive dance." At Christine's look, he guffawed. "Ah, don't be like that. All you classics kids are way too prone to judgement."

"No, not judging," Christine said. "Just….my exposure to dance has been pretty limited. If it's not the ballet or musical theater, I'm at a loss."

"Well," Connor said, mulling that over, "Most art is interpretive, wouldn't you say? I mean, most operas these days have some weird interpretation in their production, right? Like that version of The Magic Flute with the pulleys?"

"I saw that on Youtube," Meg added.

Christine laughed. "By that standard, I guess you're right."

They continued the small talk, laughing good-naturedly and making fun of the more inebriated party-goers. After a while, a group started to trickle outside and into the fresh air. The music thinned out from behind the closed door. Christine took a deep, grateful breath that did not include the scent of stale beer or body odor.

"Smoke, Meg?"

Meg nodded enthusiastically. Connor put a cigarette between his lips, lit the end, and inhaled. He passed it to Meg. She took the proffered white stem between her first two fingers daintily. Christine looked on disapprovingly.

Meg looked at her friend, then rolled her eyes. "Lay off, will you? Wasn't I supposed to be the mom-friend tonight?"

Christine crossed her arms, the action steadying her a little, making her feel more like herself. "Meg," she warned.

She felt the eyes of the group on her, and, feeling embarrassed by the attention, tried to let it go.

"I see now why she doesn't come out much," another boy said.

Christine flushed.

Meg cocked her hip, holding the cigarette aloft in one hand and placing the other on her hip. "You don't know anything. Christine's the best. And a total babe, for your information."

Christine choked mid-sip of water.

The boy raked his eyes over her, leaning back a little to get her full measure. His eyes settled eventually on her face, but he spoke to Meg. "Yeah, alright, Giry. You're not wrong."

Christine, slightly offended, had opened her mouth to respond when she heard a shuffling noise from a few feet away.

She paused. "Did you guys hear-"

 _Christine_ …

She turned around, eyes widening. She knew that voice…

 _Christine...come to me…_

Blinking, Christine started to follow the voice, the familiarity of it niggling at the back of her mind.

"Christine! Where are you going?" Meg called out.

"I'll be back in a minute," Christine returned, her voice oddly flat.

She rounded the corner of the building next door, and her eyes immediately registered the lack of light. A nearby lamp post was flickering weakly, and like most of the lamp posts around campus, only seemed to give off light when it suited. She didn't immediately notice, then, the figure before her until he was nearly on top of their toes.

"Oh!" Christine exclaimed a little breathlessly, her body flooding with panic. "I-" She stopped short, finally taking in the figure before her. "It's - you!"

"Hello, Christine," said her tutor. "Are you having a pleasant evening?"

Her head was spinning, with no small thanks to the alcohol she had imbibed. "Um, yes?" she answered, her voice coming out as more of a question than a response.

"Were you following me?" she blurted out. She cursed her tongue. _Great, Christine,_ she thought miserably. _That sounds like a sane thing to ask someone._

"I was not," he answered primly, his voice giving no indication that he was offended, and yet Christine still worried he was. "I was here on business. Someone I had to speak with who...ah, but that's neither here nor there." He tilted his head at her. "You've been looking for me."

Christine frowned. So he _knew_ she had been waiting for him outside the rehearsal room? And he hadn't bothered to answer her? The nerve!

"As a matter of fact, yes." Her tone was sharper than it had ever been with him. She felt cross, and the alcohol was giving her the confidence she needed to give him a piece of her mind. "Yes, I have been looking for you. And apparently you've been ignoring me!"

"I have been doing no such thing."

"You just admitted that you know I've been looking for you! I'd say that puh- _roves_ you're ig-ignoring me." She swayed a little, one foot crossing over the other.

His gaze dropped to her feet, then returned to her face. She could not tell, but she would swear his eyes had narrowed. "Are you inebriated?" he demanded.

"None of your bus...beeswax!" _Oh good, that sounded mature._

He seemed to take no note of her childish antics. His eyes moved in a direction over her shoulder. "I trust those people you were associating with have furnished you with spirits, then?"

 _Who talks like that?_ she wondered idly. "No, they didn't _furnish_ me with _spirits_. I furnished myself." She felt proud she had gotten that out.

The light flickered on, and she was able to get a better look at him. He was wearing black again, from head to foot. He wore large black combat boots, black pants, a black button-down that he had tucked into the pants, and a black duster that fell to his ankles. The collar of the duster was turned up around his cheeks, shielding the mask that covered his face. The duster also had a hood, but he had lowered it.

"You're very tall," she commented.

He made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. It was difficult to read his mood in her current state. His mask didn't help matters, either.

"Drinking is not wise, Christine. You will sleep badly for it. Not to mention the damage it does to your throat. People tend to shriek while intoxicated."

She wanted to stipulate that he had never seen her drunk, and therefore how could he _know_ , but she held her tongue. She was certainly sobering up, if her contained behavior was any indication. "If you were still my tutor, you'd have some say over that. But noooo, you left. Without a word. Or a trace. Just...poof."

She thought she saw him smile a little, but she could have been imagining things. "I do not poof." He paused. "You would...want that? For me to resume tutoring you?"

"Yes." She swayed again, but only a little. She saw his hand flex, as if to assist her, but he made no move. "I didn't want you to stop." Her throat closed up, but she told herself she would not become emotional. It would be utterly humiliating, and she wanted this man to think well of her.

He shuffled a little. He was so large, so intimidating, and yet she was not afraid. Strangely enough, he seemed to be afraid of her.

"Is it Madame Giry?" Christine asked suddenly. She hadn't considered it before, but maybe the woman had said something to ward him off. "Did she tell you to leave me alone?"

He looked at her for a moment, as if seeing her for the very first time. "No," he said at last, quietly.

"Then what is it?" she returned, equally as quiet.

"I…" He made to take another step towards her, then cleared his throat. "Nothing. Very well. We will resume our lessons. If that is your wish."

She beamed. She could have hugged him then, but didn't think he would approve of such a measure. "Yes! Thank you!"

He nodded. "Good. Then I will see you at our normal time on Sunday evening." He paused, and inclined his head to her. "And from now on, no drinking." He turned to walk away, and had gotten a few steps in before she raced after him.

"Wait!" She grabbed onto his sleeve, and turned him to face her. She held out her hand. "Phone."

"Pardon?" He sounded flummoxed.

"Let me give you my number. In case you decide to bail on me again."

Slowly, he handed the phone to her. She noted that he was deft, clearing the contents of his screen before handing the phone to her. It was a clinical phone, absent of pictures on the background or any kind of casing.

"Here," she said, handing it back over once she had inserted her full name and her phone number. "Feel free to text me yours, too." She looked at him slyly. "With your name, of course."

He stared at her. She began to feel uncomfortable with his unrelenting attention, and just as she was about to apology for her intrusiveness, he muttered something.

"What?" she said, stupidly.

"Erik," he said hoarsely. "My name...is Erik."

She smiled. "Erik."

He made a little breathless sound in the back of his throat. He stood there for another moment, seeming to deliberate something, but in the end, merely nodded at her and departed. She watched him leave, a feeling similar to watching a sunrise flooding her chest. She walked back to the group and tried not to smile too widely.

* * *

Author's Note: We're moving right along, here. I'm not sure yet how many chapters this is going to end up being, but I'm not in any great rush to get it out there. I want to do right by this story. I've conceptualized it for a long time so I need to do it justice - for both myself and for all of you!

I was thinking I'd have a quote/lyrics before every chapter (I do tend to like referencing them) but I'm realizing it's too much extra effort. (I'm also realizing I sound reeeeeeeally lazy. You caught me!) Sometimes the lyrics don't _exactly_ fit, but the feeling is there. So this chapter was influenced by a song by Foster the People called 'Coming of Age'. It's really groovy.

Thanks so much as always for reading! You all are my motivation and my delight! Please let me know what you think!

* According to the interwebs, _dooste-e-man_ translates to _my friend_ in Persian. If this is incorrect, please let me know!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: LOL I disappeared for forever (cue DEH music). Forgive me?

* * *

Christine woke Saturday morning to a pounding head. The light of her phone glared at her as she checked the time. It was mid-morning, which meant she hadn't wasted the entire day by sleeping off a hangover. Still, she would need to get out of bed eventually.

But she could do that slowly.

She ran through her school e-mail to see if anything had been posted yet. Nothing was present in her inbox, which was to be expected. It was probable they needed the weekend, if not longer, to make casting decisions. Christine was anxious, but she could be patient. Putting off any news, bad _or_ good, was easy. Most of the time.

Absentmindedly, she checked her texts. Erik had texted her last night almost the minute after he walked away from her. She had checked the text several times over, just to make sure it was there. That _he_ had been there.

She opened a new message, his name under the 'To' line.

Christine hesitated. She didn't want to abuse the privilege of having her tutor's - _Erik's_ \- number, but the night before had felt like a dream. She needed to know for sure that he hadn't just been a booze-addled hallucination.

Steeling herself, she started typing.

 _Hi, it's Christine._

But he would know that, wouldn't he? She saved her number into his phone. Practically forced him to take it…

She deleted the line.

 _Hi._

'OK, what now?' Christine thought, biting her lip.

 _I gave my phone number to my voice teacher, right? I'm afraid I might have met a vampire named Erik and gave him my number instead._

She sighed. That sounded idiotic. And fanciful. And paranoid. He'd think she was a space case.

Once again…

 _Hi Erik. This IS Erik, right? Voice teacher? I'm pretty sure we talked the other night but I could be imagining things._

She braced herself and hit send.

Almost immediately, she received a reply.

 _ **This is what happens when you imbibe too much, Miss Daae. You have blank spots in your memory.**_

She grinned to herself. A distant part of her felt that she should be annoyed by his chastening, but she was glad she hadn't been wrong.

 _But I remembered you. Therefore, no blank spots._

She waited in her reclined position, holding the phone above her face. She watched with bated breath as the ellipses appeared to indicate he was typing.

 _ **So it would seem.**_

 _Are we still on for a lesson tomorrow?_

She stared at her screen, her stomach twisting unpleasantly. She didn't know why she was so desperate for him to confirm, but a distinct part of her was terrified that he would say no.

After what felt like eternity, he responded.

 _ **As I have given no indication otherwise, you can trust that we are still 'on'.**_

Christine laughed, her cheeks beginning to hurt from grinning so wide. His wit was so dry it made her want to reach for a glass of water.

 _Great. Thanks. I'm looking forward to it._

 _As am I, Christine._

She tossed her phone onto the bed, sitting up gingerly. The pain in her head was very much present, but if the sounds of muffled cabinets meant anything, Meg was up and suffering as well. She could do the same.

"Ugh," Christine grunted as a greeting, falling into a chair at the kitchen table. Meg emerged from their small pantry a second later.

"You look how I feel," Meg said.

Christine nodded. "Tell me about it." Meg took out a Gatorade from their refrigerator and handed it to Christine. Christine looked at her questioningly.

"Isn't this terrible for your teeth?" Christine inquired.

"Dehydration, in this case, is worse," Meg answered, taking a large swig from her own bottle. She gestured over her shoulder. "There's orange juice in the fridge if you prefer."

Christine did. Still, Meg's idea had some merit, so she kept the drink.

"We should probably eat something too," Christine said, pondering.

Meg groaned.

Christine laughed a little, instantly regretting it.

"I can't believe people do this to themselves willingly," Christine posited, shutting the refrigerator door with her hip.

"Yeah, well, just because we're in college doesn't mean we're smart." Meg took a sip of her drink. "What are your plans for the day?"

Christine straightened, remembering something. "I think Raoul and I are getting together. He was kind of vague on the plans."

Meg grinned. "Nice!" She touched a hand to her forehead. "Ow."

"Ow," Christine agreed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

"Well, perk up, buttercup. You've got to be in fighting form."

A knock sounded at their door. The looked at each other, flummoxed.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Christine asked.

Meg gestured down to herself. "Do I look like I am?"

Grinning, Christine got up slowly and walked towards the door. She pressed her face close to the door, lining up her eye with the peep hole. She gasped. It was Raoul.

"Who is it?" Meg asked loudly.

Christine turned back to her friend sharply, placing a finger over her mouth in a 'shushing' motion. 'Raoul,' she mouthed to her friend.

Meg's eyes widened fractionally before she tore out of the room. Christine could hear her rummaging around to put on decent clothes. Christine rolled her eyes. She looked down at herself. She was still wearing her pajamas, of course, but they weren't very suggestive. Sky blue, long-sleeved flannel with matching pants, decorated with clouds. It was a little embarrassing, but only because it was childish. She shrugged and opened the door.

"Raoul? What are you doing here so early?"

"Hi," he said with a sunny smile. "I was hoping to surprise you and take you out for breakfast. And then maybe kayaking on the Potomac." He looked her up and down, taking a particularly long moment to study her face. "That is...if you're up for it?"

She blushed, all too aware of how she looked. "I would love that Raoul. But I, uh, actually just woke up and haven't showered or anything…"

"That's OK!" he quickly responded. Christine grimaced, something Raoul did not miss. "Would it be best if I came back later?"

"Give her twenty minutes!" Meg cried, popping out from around Christine's shoulder. "I can make you some coffee while she gets ready."

Christine shot Meg a half-exasperated, half-amused look. Meg had gotten ready in record time. She looked fresh and bouncy, her hair up in a clean ponytail, wearing a sundress. Christine scowled at her playfully. Meg merely smiled in return.

Raoul chanced a look at Meg. He smiled. "Thank you. Coffee sounds wonderful." He turned to Christine next. "Christine?"

She smiled softly. "I'll warn you, it might be closer to thirty," she warned.

His grin broadened. "I've got all the time in the world."

* * *

Breakfast had been a challenging but important meal. Christine was grateful to Raoul for speaking softly, as well as avoiding teasing of any kind until after her third cup of coffee. Eggs had been difficult, but Raoul insisted she take in _some_ kind of protein. It led to them splitting a giant stack of blueberry pancakes and a plate full of bacon, most of which was also covered in syrup. She had licked the sticky substance from her fingers with a blush, aware that Raoul was watching her.

She felt much better by the time they got out on the water. During their years together as children, Christine could remember that Raoul practically lived on the water. He mentioned that he had done crew in college, and had even considered becoming a professional.

"My coach really wanted me to train for the Olympics," he explained, slowing down as they got further down the river. "I was actively considering it."

"So why didn't you do it?" Christine asked, taking a sip from one of the water bottles they had purchased beforehand.

Raoul shrugged. "Guilt, I guess. My parents spent all this money on college that I would essentially be throwing away by pursuing a chance to qualify. I wouldn't be able to go to law school, or get a normal job. I would have to breathe, eat, and sleep rowing." He squinted out across the river. "I don't regret it, per se, but I sure do miss it."

"Is it too late now? Could you still give it a shot?"

He grinned self-effacingly. "It's pretty much too late. Most of the athletes are younger than I am. I'd have to drop out of law school. It would be more hassle than it's worth."

"But do you want to be a lawyer?" she prodded. "I don't really see you doing that." She reddened, realizing belatedly that her words were insulting. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he waved her off.

"It's OK. Thankfully they don't mandate you practice law once you graduate law school. I figure I'll graduate, take the bar. That way I'll have the option."

Christine leaned back, stretching out her legs a little. The late summer sun felt wonderful, and the breeze off the river was the perfect relief from the heat. "What kind of law do you think you'll practice? If you stick with it?"

He leaned towards her, setting the oars down. "I've been really interested in Veteran Affairs lately. Maybe I'll join an NGO defending their rights, or get a job with the VA."

Christine smiled. "Raoul, that's great. Wasn't your grandpa a vet?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He always talked about it when I was young, which is surprising. A lot of vets don't speak about their service. It made me want to hear more, so I volunteered with some veterans groups in high school and college. It made me happy."

She smiled at him in return. "You're, like, a really good person."

He made a face at her teasing tone. "And what about you, Miss Daae? What are your hopes and dreams?"

Her smile softened. "I was starting to lose hope for a while," she started, sitting back up and brushing down her shorts. "But I think I'm going to pursue the stage. New York, maybe. Or international stages…" She broke off, her tone turning dreamy.

"You could do it," he said sincerely, getting a little closer. "When you sing, it's like _magic._ "

She looked at him, amused. "Do you even really remember what I sound like, Raoul?"

His expression remained serious. "I do."

His gaze shifted between her eyes and her mouth, and Christine didn't hesitate. When they leaned towards one another, and he pressed his lips to hers, she felt the full warmth of the day radiating on her.

* * *

Christine fidgeted nervously all throughout Sunday morning services. Meg (who was attending to placate her mother), decided to accompany her, which ultimately became needed. Every ten minutes or so, Meg's hand would dart out and brace Christine's bouncing knee. Christine would shoot her an apologetic grin and stop before the process happened all over again.

She usually enjoyed the service, especially the sermon, but when they left the tiny campus chapel, Christine couldn't remember what the pastor had talked about. Her thoughts alternated between the audition, the kiss with Raoul, and her evening lesson with her tutor. With _Erik._

"You're overthinking things," Meg said helpfully, taking the sunglasses that sat on top of her head and placing them on the bridge of her nose.

Christine looked at her in confusion.

Meg shook her head at her. "It's super obvious, Christine. Just shut your brain off. You're going to give yourself a migraine."

Christine groaned. "I know! It's just that so much is happening at once. Everything is different this year."

Meg looked at her pointedly. "Yeah, and is any of it bad?"

Christine opened her mouth, and when she did, Meg held up a finger. "Yet?" she added.

Christine pressed her lips together before answering. "No."

Meg smiled knowingly. "Then don't stress! Exciting things are on the horizon! I know you've had to deal with a lot of bad crap, Christine Daae, so don't you think the universe is bound to even things out a bit?"

Christine stopped short and looked at her friend in disbelief. "You know," she said, "I think that's the smartest thing you've ever said."

Meg shrugged. She reached out and pulled Christine to her, linking their arms. "Yeah, I know. I'm going to start an inspirational blog on Instagram."

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up reading and homework. Her workload had only grown from the year before, and with the addition of her evening tutoring sessions with Erik, scheduling time for studying was going to become more complicated. By the time 7:30 rolled around, she was so pressed for time that she practically ran out of the dorm to get to there on time.

When she entered the music building, she finally paused, mentally preparing herself for what came next.

The difficult thing was that Christine didn't know _what_ was about to happen. Erik was so unpredictable. Would he disappear again, tutoring her as a disembodied voice, or would he face her in person?

Would he take the mask off?

She steeled herself, doing her best to let her errant, distracting thoughts disintegrate. The only way to find out what would happen in this lesson was by opening the door.

She just hoped Erik kept his word and showed up this time.

Christine breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she opened the door. He was there, sitting at a keyboard with his back to her. He barely acknowledged her as she entered, except for the slightest turning of his head. She closed the door behind her, wincing a little when she shut it harder than she intended to.

"Hello," she said meekly. "I wasn't sure if you'd be in the room or not." She winced, cursing the slip. She hadn't meant to say that right off the bat. Or, at all, really.

His back tensed. "Would you prefer I was not in your proximity, Miss Daae?" His voice was harsh sounding, defensive. She clenched her teeth.

"No," she answered hurriedly. "I mean, _no,_ I don't mind you being in my...in here. With me. In fact, I prefer it." She shut her eyes, mortified by how moronic she sounded. When she opened them again, his shoulders had lowered from around his ears.

She shuffled on her feet for a moment. Eying him from the corner of her eye, she set her bag down and moved the music stand to the center of the room. It gave her something to do with her arms, which were beginning to feel heavy and useless. Erik stared ahead, not making a move to look at her or turn around.

"Here." He held out a piece of paper to her, his arm stretching out behind him while his body continued to face forward.

Christine frowned, but approached, taking it gingerly from his hand. "What's this?"

"One of the songs you'll be expected to know when you're rehearsing for the opera."

She looked at the music more closely and started to shake her head. "But this is one of the lead's songs. I don't expect-"

"Regardless of the casting decisions, it is imperative that you can sing this. In the event that you'll need to demonstrate that you know it and can, in fact, sing it." He looked at her quickly before looking away again.

Christine pressed her lips, tempted to argue with him, but thought it best at this stage to let him have his way. "Very well. Teacher knows best."

He looked up once more, his gaze lingering longer than it had thus far, and gave what Christine imagined was a shadow of a smile. "Indeed," he answered enigmatically. He cleared his throat. "Scales first, then."

They ran through warmups, and worked on the song for a time. She had felt hesitant to sing it at first, but after Erik's insistence and good direction, she thought she could actually sing it outside of their private sessions. Not that she would, and she knew that. But perhaps, one day, she'd have the chance to sing this music, to perform as the lead. Maybe.

They wrapped up the lesson cleanly. Erik folded his papers efficiently into his leather portfolio and broke down the keyboard stand while Christine watched idly, one of her hands clasping her other arm.

Erik paused, sensing her hesitation to leave, and looked up at her briefly from under a curtain of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. "Is there something else, Christine?"

She felt a spark of reassurance that he had chosen to use her first name after his formality in the beginning of the lesson. She cleared his throat, focusing. "I...yeah, actually." The dangling hand matched its twin and grabbed her other arm. It felt easier to ask questions when she felt physically protected from his annoyance. "I was just wondering what it was that you were doing in Madame Giry's office that day."

"It is a private matter, and that is all I'll say about it." He continued packing up, a sign he considered the subject dropped.

"That's what Madame Giry said too." Christine frowned. "Does it have something to do with the fact that you don't show up on the school directory?"

He paused again. He straightened, and for the first time that night, Christine got a good luck at him. She was taken aback once again by his impressive stature. He seemed to absorb all the energy in a room. She didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing yet.

The corners of his lips pulled down. "Madame Giry would advise you not to look into things too closely."

Christine inclined her head. "She already did."

He copied her. "But you don't seem to want to take her advice. Why is that?"

Christine shrugged. "I'm an adult. And as much as I respect her, and as close as we are, she's not my mother."

He nodded. "Both your parents are deceased," he said matter of factly.

She blinked. "You know about that?"

He shuffled a little, appearing slightly uncomfortable for the first time. "I may have looked into...things...as well."

She could be indignant about that, but that would be hypocritical of her. Had she savvier means, other than badgering Madame Giry or using the university website and a couple of useless Google searches, she would have learned more about him. At the moment, all she knew was that Erik knew Madame Giry, he knew her, and that none of the Eriks that were listed on the university website matched the person in front of her.

A last name would probably do wonders for her internet search, but she doubted he'd tell her what it was.

"So that's it, then? You know my full name, so you're able to find out personal information about me, but I'm left in the dark about you? It doesn't establish very much trust, Erik. If that's your real name."

He scoffed. "Oh, it is," he replied, almost darkly. He paused, staring at her for a moment. "Very well. I'll say this much, Christine, and no more, because it is all I can offer. I do not teach at this university, nor am I a student. I am not on the staff. What I am involved in, however, is security for Cartier. Madame Giry knows about it, but I do not think her offspring does, so I would keep matters between the two of us to yourself."

"My friends are aware I'm taking voice lessons," she stated, "But I won't tell them anything about you or what you do. I promise."

He nodded slowly at her. "Thank you." He continued looking at her, and she felt slightly uneasy under his gaze. It was as if he were looking to peel some truth from her, but she couldn't imagine what.

She cleared her throat unsteadily. "Well, I guess I'd better go." She turned to the door, her bag over her shoulder, but before she reached it, he started speaking again.

"Do you normally attend coed gatherings with alcohol and tobacco products?"

Christine pursed her lips. She didn't like the judgment in his voice.

She turned back to him. "As a matter of fact, no." Her tone was forbidding, and while that was unlike her, she felt miffed by his line of questioning. Who was he to judge her for what she did outside of their lessons? Besides, she's a college student! It was a completely normal thing, going to parties and drinking alcohol. If nothing else, abstaining was _ab_ normal.

"Then Friday night was a special occasion?" He crossed his arms, the epitome of nonchalance.

"Yes, it was." She paused. "Can you fault me for it, Erik?"

"I would just have you be careful, that is all," he replied, his tone obliging. "Children are often irresponsible in those situations, and it would be unfortunate if you were to suffer because of some coed's idiocy."

His stiff language caused the corner of her mouth to twitch. He spoke so formally, as if he were some character from a period film. She found that she liked it. Even when he was lecturing her.

"I'm no child. _And_ I'm careful," she assured him.

He tilted his head at her. "You don't like being challenged, do you?" His tone was more curious than accusatory. He seemed to genuinely want to know.

She lifted an eyebrow. "No more than you," she shot back, but there was no venom on her tongue. She allowed herself to smirk at him.

He put his fingers to his hairline, pretending to lift a hat to her. "Touché, mademoiselle."

Her lips softened from a smirk to a real smile. She shook her head a little. "Anyway, I better get going. I have some more reading to do before tomorrow." She gave him a nod, feeling it important she acknowledge this new part of their journey. "Thanks again, Erik."

"Until tomorrow, Christine," he said softly behind her as she departed.

* * *

A/N Part II: OK so hopefully I'm really, actually back. Things kind of spiraled during the spring and I wasn't able to get back on track. I've had a lot of this written for months. Then I did Nanowrimo (not very successfully) but that also slowed things down. ANYWAYS, how are you all?

As always, feel free to leave comments and questions here or at my tumblr. Thanks for those who've stuck around! You guys are the best!


	11. Chapter 11

"Christine! Christine, wake up!"

Christine groaned, glaring up at Meg with half-opened eyes. "Meg," she groused, "My morning class was canceled."

"Oh, I don't care about that," her friend responded. She was vibrating with energy. "My mom texted me. The cast list is posted!"

Christine shot up in bed, wide awake. " _Really_?" She grabbed her phone off the nightstand. She thumbed past her notifications and opened the app for email. She frowned. "I don't see anything in my inbox," she croaked.

"So?" Meg answered impatiently. "Go to Reyer's classroom! I bet the list is posted there."

"Do I really need to, at this point? I didn't get an email. And what if he has a class this morning?"

"O-M-G, Christine." She pulled on Christine's arm. "Let's _go_."

They were out the door twelve minutes later, Meg practically dragging Christine along. They managed to draw some attention to themselves on the way over, specifically from Andrea, who immediately took her phone out of her designer handbag when she saw the two of them hurrying by. Christine had groaned at that, knowing without a doubt that Andrea was texting Cara to alert her. It prompted Christine to match Meg's pace, which only made her friend walk faster.

The classroom was blessedly empty when they got there. Professor Reyer was absent, which confused Christine somewhat. It was early, and even if he didn't have a class, he had to have been there to post the list. Christine hadn't the time to puzzle _that_ out, however, because Meg was dragging her once again. Only this time, to the cork board.

"Christine…"

Her friend's voice was amused. It took her a moment to realize _why_ that was.

Christine had closed her eyes at some point.

"C'mon, Chris." Meg shoved her in front of the board, her voice radiating smugness. "Take a look."

Christine's eyes drew down the line. They moved so rapidly, she almost missed her name.

Fumbling inside the pocket of her jeans, she grasped onto her phone with slippery hands and unlocked the screen. She pulled up her text messages, and scrolled to the third name down, listed after Mrs. Valerius and Meg.

 _I'm in! I got a part in the opera!_

She didn't wait longer than ten seconds before he responded. _**Which part?**_

She shook her head slightly, lips quirking in amusement. Leave it to her tutor to bypass congratulating her and get straight to the meat of the matter.

She started to type a sarcastic reply, but quickly deleted it. Sarcasm over text message would not be well-received.

She gave him the name of the character. Her fingers felt jittery as she typed.

He took longer to respond than he usually did. She watched with lessening patience as the ellipses appeared and disappeared several times. Finally, he settled on:

 _ **It's a start.**_

She rolled her eyes. Without thinking about it too much, she tilted the screen at Meg. "I told my tutor," she said, somewhat sullenly. "This was his response."

Meg looked down at the screen, frowned, than looked up at Christine. "You told _him_ first?"

Christine tilted her head. "Of course." She nudged Meg with her elbow. "You're already here," she reminded her teasingly.

Meg shook her head, a frown on her face. "I just thought you might tell Raoul first." She looked at Christine strangely.

"Well," Christine said slowly, "Raoul wouldn't really understand the significance of this. He'll probably be happy so long as I am."

Meg nodded slowly. "True." She looked down at Christine's phone again. "Not easily satisfied, is he?"

Christine scoffed. "No, not so much."

A crowd finally burst through the door. It was mainly made up of Cara's posse, but Christine recognized a few of her fellow students in the school of music. Most of them were upperclassmen, except for Eddie, whose presence was a surprise.

" _Move,_ " Andrea said, shoving one of the other students out of her way in order to see the board first. She scanned the announcement quickly, which didn't surprise Christine. Cara's name was at the top of the list, after all.

When Andrea turned back around, it confirmed what Christine believed would be the reaction to Cara being named understudy to the lead.

Andrea's mouth was pinched. She drew up her phone, looked down at it, and hesitated.

"Something wrong, Andrea?" Meg chirped.

Andrea's gaze zeroed in on Meg. "No," she answered woodenly.

"Funny, because it seems to me-" The breath left her in a whoosh as Christine pinched Meg's side in warning. It quieted Meg, but not soon enough. Andrea approached the pair of them, looking vastly annoyed.

"I'd watch my tongue, Giry." She looked down at Meg for one long, hot moment, during which time Meg bravely met her gaze. Andrea spared Christine a quick, unimpressed look before leaving the room altogether.

Meg rubbed the spot where Christine pinched her. "Why did you do that?" she complained.

"Because," Christine said, looking unimpressed, "I don't want you getting on anyone's bad side for me."

"Well," Meg said with a sniff, lifting her chin imperiously, "If she can do that for Cara, why can't I do the same for you?"

"Because I'm not paying you enough," Christine said around a toothy grin, eyes sparkling.

Christine looked back at the board, her heart lifting. This was _good._ As Erik said, it was a start. A _real_ start. She was going to make her father proud.

Meg pulled her into a hug. "Congratulations, Christine. I'm _so_ proud of you. You're one of only four non-seniors in the cast, you know, and that's including Cara and her pointless understudy status."

"I can't believe they made her understudy," Christine said under her breath, walking a little ways away from the crowd. "She's going to be so mad."

"Yeah, but there's not really a lot she can do about it," Meg said, observing the crowd that had gathered in the classroom.

Christine looked at her, lost. "What do you mean?"

Meg shrugged. "Well, it's the only _real_ part they could have offered her. Think about it." Meg returned her shrewd gaze to Christine. "She's not a senior, so she can't very well have the lead part without causing a _huge_ commotion, no matter who her daddy is. But she's still Cara." Meg rolled her eyes. "She can't take a lowly supporting role, even if it would mean getting her own song."

Christine furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Why, because it would be beneath her, of course!" Meg said with facetious aplomb, gesturing wildly in the air.

Christine laughed a little before sobering. "Too bad for her. I'd happily take a supporting role. Especially if it comes with an entire song to myself."

"Well, you're only a sophomore. And this is a very good first step," Meg opined, the voice of reason.

Christine smiled, a slow, happy curving of her lips. "You're right. This is great!"

"Isn't it, just?" Eddie appeared at her elbow, drawing her into a one-armed hug. "We'll all be working together!"

"You too, Eddie?" Christine released a chuckle. "That's great! Oh, and Meg will be in the dance corps. You remember Meg?"

Meg smiled thinly and nodded. "Hey. Congrats."

Eddie flashed a thousand-watt smile in her direction. "Yeah, you too." He looked to Christine. "Well, better give my parents a call. They'll be thrilled to hear their son isn't wasting their precious trust fund for nothing."

He left, the girls watching him go. "He has a trust fund?" Meg asked, an odd note in her voice.

Christine turned back to her. "Yeah, he's mentioned once or twice that his parents are well off. Why?"

Meg didn't meet her eyes. "Nevermind."

Christine looked back down at her phone, curious to see if Erik had texted again. _**Would you be so kind as to take a picture of the list?**_

'Well, when he asked like that,' she thought.

She did as he bid, able to to take a quick photo with the camera of her phone before the crowd closed in again.

 _ **I see Cara Bergamasco did not succeed in capturing the lead role. Poor girl. Should we send a conciliatory fruit basket?**_

Christine giggled. _Of course. It's the decent thing to do._

 _ **Of course**_ _,_ he agreed.

Meg was near enough to peak over Christine's shoulder. She snorted right under Christine's ear. "He certainly knows the way of things around here." Meg tossed her head, and Christine knew that meant Meg was coming around in regards to her tutor. "Well, I guess _someone_ should be ambitious on your behalf. It can't all fall on me."

Christine smiled. "Right you are, Meg. Right you are."

* * *

It was six o'clock in the evening when a knock came at Nadir's door.

He looked up from the television and frowned. He was not expecting anyone, and while he had been thinking of ordering takeout, he hadn't called anyone yet.

He set aside the laptop he had propped on his lap, ignoring for the moment the file that had been pulled up on the screen. He felt around for the Glock he kept behind the pillow cushion on his armchair and, arming himself, walked to the door.

He peered through the peephole. It was black.

'Well,' he thought, 'Someone's here to murder me.'

"You may put your firearm away, Daroga, it is only me," came Erik's voice in his ear.

He couldn't help himself. He jumped. Glaring at the door, he stored the gun in the back of his pants. Thinking twice, he rushed to the laptop, shut the screen, and walked back to open the door.

"Nadir," Erik said with a nod, walking, without further preamble, into Nadir's apartment.

Nadir shut the door behind him, his mood clouding over. "You might have the courtesy to _not_ mention that I own a gun. The walls are very thin here, and possessing a gun tends to make people jumpy."

"And _you_ would do well to not insult my skill at stealth," Erik replied tersely, alluding to the bit of ventriloquism he performed. "If nothing else, it is you who is more likely to inform the building with your whinging."

Nadir bristled, but said nothing. He watched as Erik walked around the room, observing the tidy space around him. He noted the television, the two armchairs, the sofa, and the coffee table, no doubt. His gaze fell on the ashtray too, currently holding a cigarette Nadir had not yet put out.

Erik turned back to him. "I daresay the United States Government will not be pleased if you lose first and last month's rent due to your filthy little habit, Daroga."

Nadir strode over to the ashtray impatiently, quickly stubbing out the inflamed end of the cigarette. "You know," Nadir began impatiently, "When I gave you the address of this apartment, I didn't think you'd _actually_ visit. Especially considering that you were assigned an apartment of your very own down the hall." Nadir crossed his arms over his chest, an eyebrow raised in challenge. "You recall, I'm sure? The one you rejected for no good reason?"

"Quite," Erik answered absently, running a finger along the crown molding to check for dust, as well as to thoroughly annoy Nadir. "Come and put the kettle on," he said, moving in the direction of Nadir's kitchen. "I don't know where you keep your tea things."

Nadir shook his head, but gave no other sign of resisting. They fell into their patterns so easily. No doubt he had become predictable in his old age, and Erik certainly played him like a fiddle. It was comforting, in a way. It meant Erik wasn't currently plotting to kill him.

"So?" Nadir prompted once he had made them both a cup. He had offered Erik what meager food stuffs he had available in his fridge, but predictably, Erik had declined. "You've come here for a reason, I'm sure?"

"Yes."

Nadir fidgeted, his fingers itching to grab for his pack of cigarettes. "I am positively tingling with suspense."

Erik gave a short bark of laughter. "Now, now, Daroga, sarcasm is hardly suiting to a member of the Bureau." He took a dainty sip from his cup, always mindful of the mask, before setting it down. "I've simply come to debrief. Isn't that what special agents do when they're working a case?"

Nadir narrowed his eyes in Erik's direction. "Yes. They do."

Erik spread his hands. "Well, here I am."

Nadir sighed exasperatedly. "Erik, history shows that you do not have a taste for accommodation, nor for being a team player. What could possibly sway you to change now?"

Erik leaned back in his seat. He looked away from Nadir, affecting an air of nonchalance.

Nadir paused, a thought occurring to him. "It wouldn't have to do with that girl, would it?"

Erik turned back to look at him. He considered Nadir, and since whatever he saw on Nadir's face did not immediately irritate him, he opened up a little. "It does."

Nadir said nothing, allowing the silence to press into the room and prompt Erik to speak.

The masked man interlaced his fingers and propped one foot upon the knee of the opposite leg. "She has been cast in the Conservatory's spring opera, thanks in some small part to myself. I am hoping that by keeping near to her throughout the process, I may learn more information about the school."

Nadir tilted his head.

Erik rolled his eyes, the light catching from Nadir's floor lamp. "Fine. In addition to that, I also have a personal interest in the form of my student's success."

"You mean Christine Daae's success," Nadir corrected.

Erik's mouth tightened. "Careful, Daroga. I am willing to comply with this idiotic investigation but do not forget what lengths I will go to should I feel threatened."

Nadir frowned, trying to form his next words carefully. "I won't give you any more grief about it, as I know that I continue to breathe at your pleasure." Nadir shook his head. "I will urge you, however, to be careful. I have no doubt that there is something special about this girl to have captured your attention, but you are putting yourself in a dangerous position by allowing yourself to get so close. I mean, what have you even told her? Surely she knows you're not a teacher, and I won't insult you by asking you if you've told her the truth."

"I thank you," Erik replied drily. He inclined his head. "I told her a version of the truth. That I am working security for the school."

"Ah, yes," Nadir chuckled. "I heard about the ballerina. Word at this school travels very fast. Madame Giry was not exactly pleased to hear that one of her girls was almost attacked."

"Yes, well," Erik straightened his gloves. "Despite the fact that Giry's department is overrun with silly young women, the one from the other night was doing nothing wrong, save for being female in this abhorrent city." Erik shrugged. "Plus, I was bored."

Nadir cocked an eyebrow in Erik's direction. "Since when is it your responsibility to act on behalf of the MPD as well as the FBI?" Nadir inquired.

Erik looked stonily back at him.

Nadir had his answer.

Erik rolled his eyes. "This city is a cesspool of criminals. And I'm not just talking about the politicians. Law enforcement is in over their heads. Which is why it only follows that they were desperate enough to involve us."

"And they judge the Middle East without impunity." Nadir shook his head. "They ought to look in a mirror."

Erik bit back a smirk around the rim of his cup.

Nadir looked at him seriously once more. "You think getting close to this Daaé girl is the best way to learn more about Cartier?"

Erik set down his tea cup. "Perhaps not the best way, but it is the way I've chosen."

Nadir glanced at his laptop, and sighed. "Well," he allowed, "A paper trail will only tell us so much. Having an inside person, as it were, would be helpful. So long," he said, pointing a finger in Erik's direction, "You do not tell her what you're really here to do."

"Believe me, my dear Nadir," Erik said humorlessly, "There is very little I would not do at this point to keep Christine in the dark regarding myself."

Erik left sometime later, to Nadir's instant relief. After he had put away their tea things, he opened the screen of his laptop once more, settling in to read the file he had pulled up previously.

 _Christine Daaé, born November 2, 1998, of Wilmington, Delaware. Only child of Viggo and Livia Daae, both deceased. No known living relatives. Ward of Mrs. Louisa Valerius of Brooklyn, New York._

 _Eyes: Light Blue_

 _Hair: Blonde_

 _Height: 5'4"_

 _Build: Slight_

 _Currently attending Cartier Conservatory, School of Music. Second year._

Nadir glanced over the information, something unpleasant churning in his stomach. He looked up from the computer and eyed the door. He chewed on the nail of his left thumb, hesitating, before giving up his internal battle with a sigh.

 _Special interest and known affiliate of Consulting Agent Erik Moaadi, of FBI Case #: Classified._

Nadir added this last line, saved the file, and attached it to an email. He sent the email off, and immediately reached for his pack of cigarettes.

He always knew he was meant for a sorry end, but if it was to be, at least he could leave this world with a clearer conscious.

* * *

A/N: So since February is the shortest month, that means I can post the shortest chapter. Right...?

As always, I wanted to get this out sooner, but it is what it is. More of a filler before we get to some juicy plot points. I wanted to throw in some information about our dear duo, so this felt like a natural way to do so.

In case you're wondering how Christine is 19 and was born in 1998, I'm setting this story in the year 2017, since technically this is when I started this fic. I also decided that she would be born in Delaware, since that is where a lot of Swedes settled when they came to America, and is the home of the Queen Christina River, as well as the Ole Swedes Church. Just in case this detail doesn't make it into this story, Christine's parents met Professor and Mrs. Valerius while they were visiting DE and followed them back to NY. Thus, why Christine lived in NY, and thus how she was able to meet Raoul.

You'll also notice Erik's last name is Persian. That was done on purpose. We'll talk about that more at a later date.

I'm also reserving the right to change any of the details I shared here regarding Christine and Erik's past, but if I do change them, I'll let you guys know!

Thanks as always for reading, I really and truly appreciate it. Feel free to leave a comment or visit me on Tumblr if you want to chat. Until next time!


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